Queen in the North
by leapylion3
Summary: Lady Elira Manston gets more than she bargained for in a marriage between herself and Robb Stark of Winterfell. Lyra Lannister finds that she'd follow Jon Snow to the ends of the earth and back, and she's not sure why. Gisella Merlyn just wants Theon Greyjoy to admit that he's not as smart as he thinks he is. Prequel/Sequel to The Wolf and the Lion. Robb/OC. Jon/OC. Theon/OC. AU.
1. Prologue

Yay! New story time! :D

Of course, I'll be continuing 'The Wolf and the Lion', but I wanted to start another one to keep me busy this summer.

This chapter may be kind of sucky; I just really wanted to introduce as many characters as I could now, so they can have lines and participate sooner.

Thanks to Kim and Madi for beta-reading!

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

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**_Elira_**

The light, summer snow gently fell onto her head, melting into her elaborately braided hair. She didn't mind the cold; she _was_ of the North. The snow felt good as it hit her rosy cheeks, refreshing her. The chilly breeze also did her well; it reminded her of when she was a little girl. She couldn't have been more than three when she faced her first winter. She and her siblings would huddle together for warmth, battling the harsh, freezing nights. The Starks were always right, eventually; winter was coming. And soon, she would be in front of a hearth in Winterfell, her children and husband surrounding her.

She couldn't help but cringe at the thought. Within a few days, she would become Lady Elira Stark of Winterfell. She would marry Robb Stark, someone she had never even met before. She would leave her castle in Temes behind, along with her family and friends, and take Winterfell as a home. She would trade her soaring owl for a growling direwolf.

"How are you feeling, Elira?" The voice of her twin brother, Ryker, dragged her out of her thoughts. He brought his stallion closer to her mare. Ryker Manston was a tall, brave and handsome young man, like a knight in the songs. His wide, hazel eyes sparkled, always smiling.

"I've been better," she admitted, a weak smile gracing her lips. Her house words kept running through her mind; _choose your fate_. Yet here she was, being shipped off to live out her days in Winterfell, and serving as Robb Stark's bed warmer and child bearer there. She couldn't help but let out a dark laugh at that.

"Stop worrying so much," he gently chided. "Mother and Father were forced to marry, and look at them now. They couldn't be happier." He flashed her a reassuring smile.

"How come _I'm _to marry before you are?" Elira asked him, pouting childishly.

He ran his fingers through his long, raven black hair. "Would you like me to be Robb's wife in your stead?" Ryker laughed. She chuckled to herself; they had always gotten mixed up as children. Now, at fifteen, the only thing that they shared were their eyes; Ryker was at least a head taller than his sister, and Elira's hair had lightened to match her mother's.

"You would look absolutely _lovely _in a dress," she teased. At their father's name day feast ten years ago, the handmaidens had mixed the two up, and Ryker found himself in a dress for the rest of the feast.

"I thought I told you to never bring that up," he huffed, still sensitive towards that subject. "And don't forget, sweet sister; I'm to marry that Frey girl within the year." He kicked the sides of his horse, riding to the front of the caravan.

Elira urged her mount forward and followed her brother. "When shall we arrive in Winterfell?" she called, trying to catch up to her brother. She sighed when he didn't answer.

"Your mother says we'll be there within the hour," Arabelle answered her. She stopped riding for a moment and waited for Elira to catch up to her. Arabelle, of House Hayston, was the wife of Olyver, the oldest Manston child. She was of average height, although it was impossible not to notice her. Her beauty was undeniable; long golden hair brought out piercing blue eyes, full pink lips and sharp cheekbones. In the three short years Elira had known her, Arabelle had come to be her closest and most trusted friend.

Elira answered with a sharp nod. "I can't wait to get off this damn horse," she grumbled to no one in particular. She turned to her good-sister. "How long have we been riding?"

Arabelle gave her a tired smile. "Two days, Elle." It was a name Ryker had called her since they could talk, and it had caught on. Elira groaned and thought about joining her mother, her younger sister, Flora, and her nephew, Emont, in the carriage for the rest of the journey.

"How did you react when you found out you were to marry my brother?" she asked Arabelle, hoping to take her mind off of her aching body. "You don't have to answer that," she mumbled, blushing.

"I always knew I'd have to marry, of course," Arabelle replied softly, resting a hand on her belly, swollen with her and Olyver's second child. "I was…scared, to say the least. I had never met your brother, and I didn't know what to expect." She smiled dreamily, her eyes focused on her stomach. "But we love each other. We have a beautiful son, and another child on the way." She smiled at Elira, moving her hand from her stomach to join the other on the reins. "You can ask me anything. Don't be afraid."

"Have you met Robb Stark?"

"No, although I have heard much about him. He's honorable, of course; it's all those Starks care about." She smirked, tossing her golden hair over her shoulder. "He's very handsome, so don't worry about that."

"What does he look like?" Elira demanded, wanting to get a rough idea of who she was going to spend the rest of her life with.

"Auburn hair, blue eyes." Arabelle shrugged. "The Tully mold." Elira had met Catelyn Tully once or twice when she was younger; her mother was close friends with the Stark bride, another reason as to why Robb and Elira were getting married. She had been very young at the time, although she remembered Catelyn being very gentle, kind and beautiful.

"My ladies." Elira's uncle, Ser Esmour Manston, rode towards the pair. He smiled at them, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "We are approaching Winterfell."

Elira nodded. "Thank you, Uncle." She smiled as he left to join her father and brothers at the front of the caravan. Esmour was the younger brother of Elira's father, Merek, and was the master-of-arms at Temes. Elira had always admired the man, and was eternally grateful for having him around; he secretly taught her how to wield a sword and shoot a bow and arrow. Her mother, Alys, of House Bole, thought it was too unladylike for Elira to be practicing weaponry. Of course, that hadn't stopped her.

Winterfell's walls stood eighty feet high, the gray color blending into the dark sky. Even from afar, the huge castle was intimidating. The structure was immense, and Elira knew that it had been here for hundreds and thousands of years. She felt her jaw drop, completely amazed by her future home.

Ryker rode to his sister's side, just as captivated of the view as she was. He leaned closer to her, his eyes never leaving the castle in front of them. "Welcome to Winterfell, sweet sister."


	2. Chapter One

Hey! Sorry this one took kind of long; I went out a lot this week, and I saw Wicked and stuff.

Hopefully it was worth the wait!

Thanks to Kim and Madi for the beta!

Enjoy! :D

* * *

**_Robb_**

Not a single person in Winterfell was standing still, man, woman or child. There were so many things to be done, and so little time. Lord and Lady Manston were to arrive at any given moment, along with their children- including Robb's bride-to-be- and most of their household. Robb felt his palms sweat at the thought; in three days, he would be a married man. He would marry Lady Elira Manston, a complete stranger. However, he couldn't help but think that she was feeling even worse; she would have to leave her family and friends behind, forced to adapt to the lifestyle in Winterfell, and take his family for her own. Somehow the thought of her suffering more than he was became reassuring, which only made Robb feel guilty.

Lady Catelyn Stark came rushing into her son's room, an expression of absolute panic on her face. "Are you ready? They should be here any minute-"

"Mother, you've been saying that the past three hours." Robb chuckled with a shake of his head. He ran his fingers through his curly, auburn Tully hair.

His mother rushed up to him and slapped his hand away, clucking her tongue. "You'll ruin your hair if you keep touching it." She licked her fingers and began to restyle his hair.

"_Mother_!" Robb groaned. He rolled his eyes and pushed her away, although he couldn't help the tiny smirk that appeared on his lips.

Catelyn smiled with her son, straightening his cloak. "I just want you to make a good impression." Suddenly, tears welled in her large, blue eyes. "You're not a little boy anymore, Robb." She bit her lip to hold back a sob that was threatening to escape. "In three days, you'll be married." She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "You'll be a man grown."

"I'll make you and Father proud." Robb told her confidently.

Finally, Lady Stark released the wave of tears that she had been holding in. She covered her face with her hands, embarrassed for such behavior. Her son stepped forward and held her in his arms, gently rocking her back and forth. "You already have, Robb," she whispered. Catelyn pulled away and cupped Robb's face in her small hands. "You're a good man, and you'll be an even better husband. Your father and I couldn't have asked for a better son." She took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes again, erasing any evidence of her tears. She became the Lady of Winterfell once more.

"They're here, they're here!" Arya, the third child of Eddard and Catelyn Stark, came running down the hall, shouting at the top of her lungs. Robb peeked out the door, almost doubling over with laughter when he saw the scene taking place in front of him. Arya's handmaiden was chasing after her frantically, a panicked expression on her comely face. In the young woman's hands was the dress Cat had laid out for her daughter to wear. Robb stepped out into the hallway to get a closer look. His mother followed him, her eyes widening in horror.

"Arya Stark!" Catelyn exclaimed, scooping her daughter in her arms. "I _told _you to get ready! They're going to be here any minute and-"

"So let me get ready instead of yelling at me," her daughter retorted, slipping out of her grasp. Robb covered his mouth with his hand to muffle his chuckles.

Lady Stark let out an exasperated sigh and raised her eyebrows at Arya's handmaiden. "Astrid, clean her up, have her get dressed and do something about her hair."

The handmaiden bowed her head. "Yes, my lady."

"And be quick about it."

* * *

The Stark family lined up in the courtyard, all clad in their nicest clothes. Behind them, their entire household stood in silence, along with Eddard's ward, Theon Greyjoy, and Robb's half-brother, Jon Snow. Everyone's eyes were focused on the gates ahead, unblinking, waiting for the Manstons to arrive.

Robb licked his lips nervously, his blue eyes darting back and forth from one side of the courtyard to the other. After a month of trying to envision her, he would finally meet this mystery woman he was supposed to marry. Theon had joked that the only thing that mattered was whether she had big tits or not, which earned him a good kick to the shin.

When his parents weren't watching him, the Stark boy looked over his shoulder at his half-brother, who offered him a reassuring smile. Next to Jon was Greyjoy, who raised his eyebrows at Robb and put his hands to his chest. "Big tits," he mouthed. Jon Snow was all too happy to give Theon a punch in the shoulder in his brother's stead. Robb grinned at the bastard and turned back to face the courtyard.

The first one through the gates was a tall and broad-shouldered man on a black stallion, who Robb immediately knew was Merek Manston, Lord of Temes. His salt and pepper hair matched his beard, but apart from his lightening locks, there was no evidence of him being almost twice as old as Eddard Stark. Lord Manston was a strong, happy and healthy looking man, and the stories told of his bravery and formidable fighting skills rung true.

As he swung down from his horse, three other men rode through the gates. Robb figured two of them were Merek's sons, and the last man was his brother. A blue and gold emblazoned carriage followed them, pulled by two white mares. Merek approached the carriage and opened the door, helping his lady wife Alys out. Two small children bounded out after her with wide grins on their faces and Robb couldn't help but smile at them. They reminded him of Arya and his younger brother, Bran.

A beautiful young woman with flowing blonde hair swung down from her horse, with the help of who Robb assumed was her husband, one of the Manston boys. The moment her feet touched the ground, her hands flew to her swollen belly. Her husband gave her a peck on the cheek and scooped up one of the children- the girl- and joined his father and mother in the middle of the courtyard.

Lady Elira Manston finally barged through the gates, her horse galloping at full speed. Elira took a wild turn, her mare suddenly coming to a halt. Red faced, the girl jumped off the horse, embarrassed by her over-the-top entrance. Robb couldn't hide his grin as he watched her slink silently to her brother's side. She was rather pretty, Robb thought; dark brown hair, hazel eyes, short stature. Her hair was braided elegantly, embedded with small gold and blue jewels, the colours of her house. She donned a thick, woolen dark blue dress, detailed stitching and patterns on the skirt.

"Ned!" Lord Merek shouted happily, pulling the Warden of the North in a hug. He leaned back and squeezed Eddard's shoulders. "How long has it been?"

"Much too long, my friend." Stark smiled genuinely, patting his friend on the back. "It's good to see you, Merek."

"Aye, and you, Ned." He stepped away and hugged Catelyn while Ned welcomed Alys. "Cat, you look as beautiful as ever." He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a light kiss upon it.

"You flatter me, my lord," Lady Stark beamed. He nodded and bent down to ruffle Rickon's hair. The youngest Stark smiled up at him. "Alys!" She wrapped her arms around her long-time friend. "You look lovely."

"As do you, Cat." Lady Manston returned the embrace warmly. "It's been too long. I missed you. I have much to tell you."

"You must be Robb," Merek stated. His blue eyes were steely as he looked the Stark boy up and down.

"Yes, my lord," he replied politely, desperately trying not to tremble. He had to make a good impression, and he had to make his parents proud, no matter how intimidating the Lord of Temes was.

Lord Manston's face broke out into a grin. "It's good to finally meet you. I'm sure you'll be a fine husband for my daughter."

"Thank you, my lord." Robb smiled, shaking Lord Merek's hand. The Lord of Temes moved down the line, along with his lady wife, to meet the rest of the Stark family.

After meeting the rest of Elira's family, the young brunette finally approached Robb after introducing herself to his parents. "My lord." She bowed her head and curtsied, a shy smile on her pretty face.

"My lady." He took her hand and gently kissed it. He smiled when he saw her blush profusely. He was certain Theon was making a vulgar comment in his head. She quickly scampered off to join her twin brother, Ryker, who was kneeling in front of Bran. Ryker reminded Robb of Theon, with his constant smirking and his dry sense of humor. Robb noticed that his sister, Sansa, was already half in love with Elira's twin, with her constant murmurs and ogling. Arya scoffed and rolled her eyes, muttering something about what a wonder it was that they were related, which earned her a stern look from Lady Stark.

After the Manston family and their household went to rest, Robb, Jon and Theon went to the dining hall to talk. "Did you see the blonde one?" Greyjoy hooted, taking a swig of his ale. "What I'd give to have her warm my bed."

"She's married, Theon." Jon frowned, giving his friend a disapproving stare. "And you shouldn't talk about a noble lady that way."

"And she's already with child, so I wouldn't give her a bastard." Theon smirked, ignoring Snow's comments. He flickered his grey-green eyes to Robb. "Your girl's not that bad either, Stark."

Robb narrowed his eyes. "Don't get any ideas, Greyjoy," he warned, not in the mood to put up with Theon's shenanigans.

The Ironborn smirked once more behind his mug. "Looks like the boy's already in love."


	3. Chapter Two

Hello! :D New update woohoo! I'll probably have another one ready later today *fist pump*

Okay, I have a poll happening on my profile...go check it out and vote! :D

Thanks to Kim for beta-ing! :D

I don't think I have any more to say, so...Enjoy! And thanks to all who's reading, following, faving and reviewing this! :*

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**_Elira_**

After a nice, long nap, Elira rolled out of bed, feeling relaxed and refreshed at last. The girl figured that the feast would start soon, and, wanting to look presentable, had her handmaidens draw a bath for her. She sunk into the water, the warmth easing the tension out of her aching muscles. Her handmaidens scrubbed her down and washed the dirt and grime from her travel out of her hair. By the time they were finished, her skin was pink and raw and her locks were sheen and lustrous. Elira shaved her unwanted hair off of her body with a small dagger.

Just as she dried herself off and shrugged into a silk robe, one of her handmaids, Avoca, entered Elira's chambers. "Lady Catelyn Stark would like to speak with you, my lady. She is waiting outside your quarters."

"Send her in, Avoca," the Manston girl commanded, quickly brushing her hair. She wished she had enough time to slip into a dress, but this was Catelyn Tully Stark. She couldn't keep her waiting or deny her entry. "Lady Stark," Elira bowed her head respectfully. She waved her hand, shooing away the handmaid.

"No need for formalities, dear." Cat smiled as Avoca skittered out of the room wordlessly. "We are to be family soon. Catelyn is just fine."

Elira nodded. "You look lovely, Lady- _Catelyn_." She would have to get used to calling her by her given name. Elira didn't compliment her just to be polite; Cat looked especially splendid this evening. The Lady of Winterfell wore a different gown than the one she had greeted the Manstons in; blue wool, with a lighter shade for the sleeves. Catelyn had a golden belt of leaping trout around her waist, the sigil of House Tully. She left most of her auburn hair loose, except for two thin braids pinned to the top of her head, resembling a headband.

"Thank you, Elira," Cat replied happily. The Manston girl noticed a small package in Lady Stark's hands. Catelyn must have noticed her wandering eyes since she held out the box for her. "It's for you. It's why I dropped by." Elira hesitated before taking it. "Go on, dear- open it!" Tentatively, the girl lifted the lid off the box and gasped loudly at what she saw. Elira hurriedly pulled the dress out, a wide grin on her face. "Think of it as an early wedding present," Cat said, her blue eyes sparkling. "I thought you'd wear it to the feast. I know you would look beautiful in it."

Instinctively, Elira wrapped the Lady of Winterfell in a hug. "Thank you, Catelyn. I love it." She pulled away and met Cat's eyes. "Will you help me into it?" she asked shyly. Catelyn nodded, helping the girl into her corset and underclothes as Elira plaited her hair.

"Elira, dear, you look beautiful," Catelyn gushed as she finished the ties on the back of the dress. Cat gently moved Elira's braid over one shoulder. "Go on. Have a look." She pointed to the full size mirror on the other side of the room. The Manston girl obliged and widened her eyes at what she saw. She looked like a completely different person; delicate, refined and alluring. She smoothed out the wrinkles in the skirt, her fingers running over the velvety material and tracing the intricate lace patterns. The dress's dark shade of purple was one she had never even seen before. The neckline was a bit low for her liking, showing off her shoulders, but Elira felt ecstatic. "I'm sure Robb will love you in it," Lady Stark murmured, fixing the waist of the dress.

"I can only hope so, my lady," she replied absentmindedly, still mesmerized by her reflection. She hardly believed that the girl staring back was _her_- plain old Elle Manston. But tonight, she was positively glowing. "I can't thank you enough, Catelyn." She turned away from the mirror and smiled softly at her future mother-in-law.

"No thanks is necessary." Cat squeezed Elira's hand. "Now, I'm afraid I must go check up on my children. Who knows what trouble they could have gotten into while I was gone?" She chuckled quietly and started for the door. "I'll see you at the feast," she said before exiting Elira's chambers.

Just as the door was about to close, a hand stopped it. Elira looked up to see a bashful looking Robb Stark. "Am I intruding, my lady?"

"Not at all, my lord," she assured him, checking her hair in the mirror one last time. "Please, come in." He slipped in and closed the door behind him.

Robb's cheeks turned red as he looked her up and down. "You look exquisite, my lady."

She couldn't help but let out a giggle. "Thank you, my lord." She regained her composure, remembering to play the part of a noble lady, not act like a blushing maiden. "And to what do I owe the pleasure?"

He tried his best to put on a charming smile. "I was wondering if I would have the honor to escort you to the feast?" She bit back another giggle as she noticed the redness spread to his neck.

"Of course, my lord." Elira curtsied exaggeratedly, her lips curling upward into a smirk. Robb grinned and offered her his arm. She gladly looped her arm though his and rested her hand on his forearm, slightly surprised by the taut muscles under her grip.

They had barely made it out the door before Elira heard some ruckus down the hall. She broke away from Robb, throwing an apologetic look over her shoulder and crept down the hallway quietly. Turning the corner, the young lady saw Lady Catelyn, who seemed to be arguing with a young, curly haired man. No, more like Cat was scolding him for _something_. The boy stood there quietly and let her yell at him.

Before she could stop herself, Elle found herself taking a couple paces forward. "My lady, is there a problem?" Her eyes met the boy's grey ones, and she was taken aback by how much he looked like Eddard Stark. She recognized him from when she arrived in Winterfell, although she wasn't exactly sure who he was.

"I was just on my way to the feast," Catelyn said tightly. She gave Elira a look that told her not to ask any more questions. "You should go back to Robb, dear. He's waiting."

"It's quite alright, Mother," the Stark boy said, walking up to the trio. Almost naturally, he wrapped an arm around Elira's waist. "What's going on?" His voice had a slight edge to it.

"Lady Catelyn was just making sure that I knew what to do," the other boy spoke up. His eyes were downcast, and he had a slight blush to his cheeks. Elira internally cursed herself; of _course _he looked like Eddard. He was his bastard son, Jon Snow.

"Will you be joining us at the feast?" Elle tried to lighten the mood, leaning into Robb's embrace.

"Having an illegitimate child there will offend your family, my lady," Jon replied automatically. Catelyn had a sour look on her face, and Elira felt her heart break for the bastard boy.

"Come, I insist. You won't offend my family, I assure you." Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Robb giving her a warning glance, but she paid him no mind. "I would love it if you joined us."

Cat opened her mouth, taking on an almost desperate tone. "_You_ may not be offended, Elira, but your family is honorable, and-"

"I promise, Lady Catelyn, they won't mind." Elira was surprised that she was practically _begging _her to let this boy she didn't even know attend the feast. She knew she should have just acted as a proper lady should- she should have let Robb escort her without all of this trouble.

"Mother, let Jon come," Robb said softly. "He is my brother, after all. Is this feast not to celebrate the joining of our two houses? We should all be together during this festive time."

Cat pursed her lips, and then finally sighed. "Very well." She whipped her head towards Jon. "But if I see you causing _any _trouble for our guests-" She pointed a finger in his face before stalking off, leaving the threat hanging in the air.

"You two didn't have to do that," Jon whispered. His eyebrows were furrowed as he stared at Robb and Elira.

"I didn't like seeing how she treated you," Elle admitted, tucking a lock of curly brown hair behind her ear. "She is a very kind woman but-"

"You didn't have to do that," Snow repeated, slower this time.

Robb clapped his half-brother on the shoulder and offered him a reassuring grin. "Jon, come on. Join us. It will be fun; I promise." He began to make his way down to the Great Hall, his arm still around Elira's small waist. Jon followed them silently, and Elle swore that she could feel his grey eyes on her back.

While they were walking, Robb made small talk by pointing out what was what around the castle. During this time, she really got a chance to look at him; the Tully mold, just as Arabelle had said. His sparkling blue eyes were friendly and inviting, his curly auburn hair ending at his strong jaw line. Elira couldn't help but feel lucky that she was to marry such a handsome young man.

"See anything interesting, my lady?" She took a sharp intake of breath as she was suddenly pulled away from her thoughts. Elira refocused on Robb and noticed the mocking glint in his eye and the teasing smile on his face.

"Yes, your castle is lovely," she replied haughtily, angry at the Stark boy for catching her staring at him, and even angrier at herself for staring in the first place. She looked at Jon Snow over her shoulder and noticed a small smile on his face. "Are we almost at the Great Hall, my lord?" Lady Manston turned her head around and made sure to keep her eyes ahead, not wanting to embarrass herself any further.

"Just about, my lady," he replied. She inwardly groaned, hearing the smile in his voice. She knew that she would never hear the end of this. "And you may call me Robb." His voice softened. "We are to be husband and wife soon, and I do not want you to feel foreign here, especially not around me." His eyes searched her face as they entered the Great Hall.

"Then you may call me Elira," the girl replied quietly. "Both of you." She peeked at Snow from the corner of her eye. He was smiling at her, but there was no mocking air to him. He was sincere, and it helped her relax. "Or Elle, if it please. My brother Ryker calls me Elle."

"Elle," Robb tried, the name rolling off of his tongue with ease. "I like it. It suits you." Elira smiled shyly and followed Robb to their table. She reached out and grabbed Jon's hand, pulling him forward to join her and Robb. From the moment she saw the other Stark children laughing, grinning and jesting at the table with her own siblings, she knew she wouldn't mind calling Winterfell her home.


	4. Chapter Three

Yay another shitty chapter for you guys. Woot.

Actually I sort of hate this one but I mean it had to be done, I guess. I just can't leave you guys hanging as to what happens at the feast.

And also I wanted an excuse to write some more Ryker. Because I love that guy. And I wanted to try writing a bit of Sansa and Arya. So here you go.

Go vote on the poll y'all!

Oh and by the way, I'm going away this Friday for a little over a week, so I won't update for that period of time. SO, I will try to update as much as I possibly can this week!

Thanks to KP for beta-ing, as always!

Enjoy! And thanks to everyone who reads/faves/subscribes and reviews! :D

* * *

**_Robb_**

Elira Manston had turned out to be a great person to talk to, especially after a mug of ale, which became highly entertaining for Robb, Jon and Theon. After the second mug, she giggled at everything anyone said, and the three boys found themselves laughing along with her. Her laughter was extremely contagious, and Robb's sides hurt like hell by the time dessert was brought out. After the third mug, he thought that the blush on her cheeks would become permanent. He stopped her after she tried to get a fourth from the serving wench; he figured she wasn't used to having so much to drink, and he didn't want a mess to happen if she couldn't hold her liquor. Theon wanted her to keep drinking, which earned him slaps from both Stark brothers. Robb couldn't help but think that the Greyjoy just wanted to see if he could get lucky with Elle.

The Stark boy found himself staring at the girl all night, entranced by her shy smile and her bright hazel eyes. The dress his mother had given her did her wonders, and Robb caught Theon's wandering eye more than once. He shot him warning looks and kicked him under the table, jealousy coursing through his veins.

Elle had very interesting stories to tell about the creatures beyond the Wall and her family history. The younger Stark children- Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon- were amazed by what she had to say. True or not, they kept him entertained. While they supped, Robb even caught her humming along to some of the songs the singer was performing.

Elira's brother, Ryker, was quite droll, with his constant sarcastic remarks and crude jests. Sansa was head over heels for him, and she didn't even mind when he kicked his feet up on the table, or smacked a passing serving wench on the ass, things she would have endlessly scolded her brothers for. She barely paid attention to Arya flicking bits of her food in her direction. She only noticed when a piece of quail landed in her pretty plaited hair. "_Arya_!" she had screamed, which drew laughter from the entire table, Ryker most of all. Sansa had pouted and blushed fiercely, throwing the grilled wing onto the floor.

"Your siblings are so adorable!" Elira had gushed, gripping Robb's arm tightly. "And they all get along so-" she had cut herself off with a gasp, ducking just in time as a slice of onion pie flew over her head. Theon, Jon and Robb had burst into laughter, ignoring Elle's glares. She had looked towards her twin for aid, only to see that he was leaning on Jon for support, holding his stomach tightly as he laughed at his sister's expense. "_Ryker_!" She crossed her arms over her chest, but he was too far gone to notice her pleas. "Jon?" She tried to get help from the quietist out of the four boys, but he just shook his head and took a swig of his spiced wine, still chuckling.

"I'm so sorry, that was meant for Sansa!" Arya had yelped, covering her mouth with her hands. "You're lucky it didn't hit you, though." One of the corners of the little girl's mouth had quirked upward. Elira's response had been her collapsing into a fit of giggles.

After they finished dessert, Robb looked over his shoulder to see several servants moving some tables around to set up a makeshift dance floor. Ned and Cat were the first to dance to the singer's lively tune, closely followed by Merek and Alys. The Stark boy stood up and turned to Elira, putting on his most charming smile. "A dance, my lady?" He bowed low and held his hand out for her.

"I'm a terrible dancer," she cautioned, but he caught the hint of a smile on her lips.

"So am I. Now let's go." He grinned and took her small hand in his. Robb nudged Ryker gently in the ribs. "Ask my sister to dance. She's been fawning over you all night." He winked at the raven haired boy and led Elira to the dance floor.

"May I have this dance, my lady Sansa?" The two heard Ryker drawl. Elira and Robb cackled at Sansa's widened blue eyes and reddening face. She eagerly nodded her head and looped her arm through Ryker's.

"He's horrible!" Elle buried her face in Robb's neck. "He's going to break the poor girl's heart!" She watched as Ryker and Sansa danced, wide grins on both of their faces. Sansa's eyes were filled with joy as Elira's twin spun her around.

"I'll have to kill your brother if he does," Robb said mock-threateningly. Elira giggled and pressed herself closer against him. He looked around and saw Theon dancing with a pretty serving girl, and Jon was shyly asking one of Elira's handmaids to dance with him. Arya, Bran and Rickon were still at the table, bickering over something childish. The youngest Manston child, Flora, quickly pulled Brandon away from his siblings and practically dragged him to the dance floor. "Looks like your sister has taken a liking to Bran." Robb smirked.

"She's at the stage where she thinks every lad is magnificent," Elle snorted. "After we arrived, she asked me if Jon would accept her marriage proposal."

Robb threw his head back and laughed. "From one Stark to another."

She smirked and nodded towards Theon. "She liked Greyjoy, too, but that was only for about five minutes until she decided Bran was her new favourite." When the song finished, she felt a tugging at her skirts and looked down to see the youngest Stark. "Hello, sweet." Elira smiled at Rickon.

"Will you dance with me?" he asked quietly. Lady Stark gave him an encouraging smile over her husband's shoulder.

"I would be honored." Elle grinned. She gave Robb a quick peck on the cheek. "I'll see you in a bit." She seemed to have sobered up within the past few minutes.

"Save a dance for me?"

"Of course." She took Rickon's hand and began dancing with the six-year-old, both of them beaming. Robb smiled at the two and made his way back to the table.

"There's nothing to _do_," Arya groaned.

"I'll dance with you, if you'd like," he tried, sitting down across from his younger sister.

She stuck her tongue out and pretended to gag. "Dancing is for _ladies_."

"You're going to be a lady," he pointed out, amusement on his features.

"No, I'm not." She furrowed her eyebrows. "I'm going to be a warrior, like you and Jon and Father, and just like Bran and Rickon will be. But I'll be better than them."

"I bet you will be, little sister." He reached over and ruffled her hair.

"I heard that Elira carries a sword," Arya exclaimed. "And that she can shoot a bow and arrow better than she does needlepoint!"

Robb nodded slowly. "A lady should know how to defend herself." He looked over at Elira, who was thanking Rickon for the dance. She kissed the top of his head and went over to her older brother, Olyver and his wife, Arabelle.

"I can defend myself!" Arya assured him. She fingered the knife next to her empty plate. "And I'll kill anyone who tries to hurt us."


	5. Chapter Four

Hullo! A new chapter! Yay! :D

Beware: lots of fluff. But, hey, Robb needs some lovin'!

Thanks to Charlotte Kenobi (Seanna) for the beta!

Before we begin, a couple of questions!

1. Would you guys want me to give Theon a love interest? It would probably be later on in the story.

2. Would you guys like to see Lyra (The Wolf and the Lion) and Elira's paths cross?

Arabelle has been added to the favourite OC poll!

Also, the King's arrival should be in a couple chapters...Elira and Robb were originally going to marry a year before season 1, but then I thought that the start of the show was too far away. After that, I said 6 months, but once again, kind of far away. So it's only going to be around 2 months before the royal arrival. Because LAZY ME!

Sorry for the long ass author's note! Thanks to everyone who reads/subscribes/reviews/faves! It means a lot!

Enjoy! And don't hesitate to drop a review! c:

* * *

**_Elira_**

After spending most of the night dancing with the Starks and her own family, Elira was beyond exhausted. She had a hard time keeping her eyes open near the end of the feast as Lord Eddard made his speech, welcoming the Manston family to Winterfell. Ryker kept on having to kick her shin under the table to keep her awake. She was relieved to see Flora starting to doze off, which gave her an excuse to leave. Elle quickly grabbed her sister and started for the corridor. "I'll take Flora to her chambers!" she shouted over her shoulder as she passed by her parents. She knew she would get a scolding from her mother for being so rude.

"Elira, wait!" Robb called after her. He scooped up a sleepy Bran and a snoring Rickon and joined Elle and her sister in the hall. "Are you alright?" he asked, falling into step with his betrothed.

"I'm fine," she assured him, hoisting Flora higher on her hip. "Just very tired." She covered a yawn with her hand.

"How about we drop off the children, and then I'll escort you to your chambers?" he suggested. Elira nodded and followed him to the main hallway where their chambers were located. Robb went to slip Bran and Rickon into their respective beds, and Elle tucked the now-sleeping Flora into hers. She placed a soft kiss onto her younger sister's forehead and quietly ducked out of the room. "Did you enjoy the feast?" Robb asked, holding his hand out for her.

"Yes, it was lovely," she said truthfully. Her chambers were only down the hall, but she enjoyed the feel of her hand in his. "I loved getting to know all of you. I can tell that I'm going to like it here."

Robb grinned, making Elira feel weak in the knees. "You don't know how happy I am to hear that." They stopped outside the girl's chambers. She was reluctant to let go of him, but she reminded herself that she would see him tomorrow.

"Thank you," Elira murmured, gingerly letting go of his hand. He pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her hand, her cheeks flaming. He straightened and nodded at the girl, his blue eyes never leaving hers. Before she knew what she was doing, she cupped his cheek and pressed her lips against his. She could have sworn she was on fire. Lightning coursed through her veins and she felt lightheaded. Elira had kissed boys before, but never like this. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears as he deepened the kiss, parting her lips with his tongue. Robb pulled her flush against him, and even beneath his breeches, she could feel his hardness against her. Panicking, she pushed him away. Both were panting heavily as they stared at each other. "I-I'm sorry," she whispered. "T-the wedding. We have to wait-"

"Don't be sorry," he breathed, pecking her quickly on her swollen lips. "You're right." He kissed her on the forehead.

"Goodnight, Robb." She pressed a light kiss on the corner of his mouth. She turned away from him and opened the door to her chambers.

"Would you like to join Jon, Theon and I at practice tomorrow?" he asked her, the words tumbling out of his mouth. "I could teach you how to shoot a bow and arrow, if you'd like, since Arya said you already know how to wield a sword-"

Elira spun around and silenced his babbling with another kiss. "I would love to. Goodnight."

* * *

After they broke their fast, Robb led Elira to the courtyard. Jon and Theon were already waiting for them, the two clad in their practice armour. Elle saw Ryker waddle out of the armoury, a scowl etched on his handsome features. "Do I really have to wear all this bloody armour?" he growled. Ryker always preferred to wear a simple woolen tunic and breeches under boiled leather, much like a sellsword.

"Unless you want to get into more trouble than you are already in, then yes." Elle smirked at her twin. "It would be much fun telling Mother just what got you so banged up." This morning, while breaking fast, Lady Manston had scolded Ryker for his unbelievably rude behaviour the night before. She told him that nobility like him should not have such a foul tongue, and he shouldn't be flirting with every female in the Great Hall. _"You're to be married within the year!" _Alys had reminded him for the thousandth time. The four boys began to spar, Theon against Robb, and Jon against Ryker.

"Is it true you carry a sword?" Elira gasped loudly. She had been so engrossed in the sparring, she hadn't even heard the approaching footsteps. The Manston girl looked down to see Arya Stark grinning toothily at her, a sparkle in her grey eyes.

"Y-yes," Elle stuttered, still catching her breath. She silently thanked the gods that none of the boys had seen her get scared out of her wits by a little girl. "I mean, I-I know how to fight. My sword is hidden at the moment."

"I want to learn how to fight!" Arya exclaimed. Her nose scrunched up in disdain. "But Mother says it's too _unladylike_," she spat the last word, as if it left a bad taste in her mouth.

"That's what my mother said, too." The older girl smiled. She sat down on a nearby bench, the Stark girl happily following her. "Can you keep a secret?" Arya nodded eagerly. "My uncle, Ser Esmour, taught me in private." She fiddled with a loose hem on the sleeve of her tunic. "He's the master-of-arms back home at Temes. To this day, I don't think either of my parents know about it. I'm surprised Ryker and Olyver have kept their mouths shut for this long."

"You're so lucky." The small girl pouted and crossed her arms over her chest. "I asked my father if he could teach me, but he always says he's too busy."

"Be fortunate you don't know how to fight. War is a bloody, ugly, _terrible _thing." Elira ran her fingers through Arya's messy hair, combing out the tangles. She leaned in closer to the young girl and whispered in her ear, "I'm to marry your brother soon. Perhaps I can convince him to teach you how to fight. Enough to defend yourself, at least."

Arya threw her arms around Elle's neck, enfolding the older girl in a tight hug. "That would mean the world to me!" she said against Elira's cheek. "Thank you."

* * *

Ryker beat everyone he sparred with, a huge grin on his face the whole time. He didn't even seem to be bothered by the heavy practice armour anymore. His hair was slick with sweat and it stuck to his face and neck, which he complained about all the while. "I swear, Ryker, you're worse than a girl!" Elira had teased, eliciting laughter from the Stark children and Greyjoy. Robb, Jon and Theon taunted Ryker as they went into the armoury.

"Your brother is so handsome," Sansa swooned once he was out of earshot. She had joined Arya and Elira shortly after her needlepoint lessons ended. Elira was surprised that Flora and her nephew, Emont, didn't join them. Sansa had said that they had stayed with Alys and Arabelle. "And he's so gallant! And he won every battle! He even beat Jon- _nobody_ ever beats him."

"Not even Robb," the younger Stark girl piped up.

"I'm sure they just let him win since we're the guests." Elle smiled. "Ryker's not all _that _good. Olyver beats him all the time." She gently bounced Rickon on her knee. He and Bran had joined the girls just in time to see the final matches; Ryker against Theon, and Robb against Jon.

Robb jogged over to them, a quiver and a bow in his hands. He offered them to Elira. "Shall we?" She nodded and gently put Rickon down next to Sansa. She took them and followed him to the small space reserved for archery. "Have you ever shot an arrow before?"

"My uncle taught me when I was younger," she replied, pulling out an arrow and swinging the quiver over her shoulder. "It has been such a long time. I think I may have forgotten how to shoot." She strung the arrow and held the bow up, closing one eye to aim.

"I can tell." Robb chuckled. She stared at him, incredulous. "You're holding it all wrong," he explained. He placed his hands on hers and adjusted her grip. "Your hold on the arrow can't be too tight, or else it will snap in half. The same goes for the bowstring." He moved his hands down to her hips. "Your stance should be solid, your feet rooted in place." Elira could barely think straight; he was standing so close to her, and she could feel his warm breath brush past her face. She tried to ignore his presence, instead concentrating on the target and his words. She could have sworn that he enjoyed tormenting her. His lips were almost touching the delicate skin of her neck, shivers running up and down her spine every time he let out a breath.

"Lift your arm a bit higher," Robb murmured, cupping her elbow. "Good. Go ahead and shoot, sweet." Elle was surprised by the endearing name, but gave him a sharp nod of her head. The arrow hit the outermost ring of the target, but she was happy nonetheless. It had been at least two years since she had done archery. "Not bad." The Stark boy smiled at her.

"Elira!" Arabelle's high, musical voice called. She walked briskly to Elle and Robb. She looked lovely, as always. Her golden hair was done up in the traditional Southern style- one of the only ways of reminding herself of home. She wore her favourite red and white gown, which was refitted to accommodate her swollen belly. In her arms was two-year-old Emont. He looked just like Olyver, except he had inherited his mother's blue eyes. "Lady Stark has invited you, your mother and I on a walk. I suggest you-"

"I'm coming." Elira rolled her eyes and shrugged the quiver strap off her shoulder. "I'm sorry," she told Robb, plucking the arrow out of the target. Elle couldn't help but feel extremely plain compared to her good-sister; Elira wore simple woolen breeches, a thick tunic under a long cloak, and knee-high leather riding boots.

"It's quite alright," he assured her, taking the bow and quiver from her hands. "You'll have plenty of time to practice after our wedding, I'm sure." She caught a hint of nervousness in his voice.

"Yes, of course." Elira tucked away a strand of hair that had escaped her braid. "I'll see you when we sup." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and followed her good-sister.

"You're blushing." Arabelle smirked.

"P-pardon?" Elle gaped at the older woman.

"You're smitten for the Stark boy!"

"I am _not_!" the Manston girl growled, stomping her foot childishly. Elira ignored Arabelle and took her nephew from his mother's arms. He grinned happily and played with the end of her messy braid.

"Then why are you getting so defensive about it?" Elira inwardly cursed. Why did Arabelle always have to be right about everything?

"I swear it, Arabelle, you're worse than Ryker."


	6. Chapter Five

Hey! Super quick author's note, because my mom is going to KILL me if I don't go to bed now haha.

There's some mature themes in this one (cough cough my attempt at a sex scene) so I put the rating up to M.

I had no beta for this, since I just wanted to get it up as soon as possible. So it's kind of rough.

Alright, this is the last update for a little while! Sorry!

Thanks and enjoy!

* * *

**_Robb_**

"In just a mere hour, you'll be stuck for life. I almost feel sorry for you, my friend." Theon Greyjoy grinned, clapping Robb Stark on the shoulder. The ward shrugged and his face turned serious. He wandered closer to Ryker, who he had become fast friends with. "_Almost_. I suppose it could be worse." Robb quirked up an eyebrow at his friend, urging him to continue. "She could be ugly." Theon's face cracked into another grin. He laughed even harder when the Stark boy shoved him into the nearest wall.

"Don't listen to him, Robb." Jon smiled at his brother. "She'll make a lovely wife. I'm sure you two will be very happy together." He gave his half-brother a quick hug.

"Speaking of Elira-" Ryker casually propped his feet up on the table. For once, the boy was absolutely serious; no hint of amusement whatsoever was in his hazel eyes. He fingered the hilt of the dagger hidden in his belt. "If you hurt her, Stark, you'll wish you hadn't." Robb, Jon and Theon all jumped up in shock as the dagger landed in the wooden door with a loud _thwack_. Finally, a broad grin lit up his features.

"Stop scaring him, Ryker," Olyver chided his younger brother. With one look at the three shell-shocked boys, he couldn't contain his laughter anymore. "You three look like you shat yourselves," the oldest Manston child hooted. Ryker had a mischievous glint in his eye as he pulled the dagger out of the door with ease.

"I won't hurt her," Robb promised. He nervously eyed the sharp weapon in Ryker's hands. He relaxed visibly once the dark haired boy sheathed the dagger.

Theon and Ryker's eyes met and they shared a smirk. "Jon," Elira's twin called, getting the attention of the Stark bastard. "You stick it in last night?"

Jon's grey eyes widened, looking like they were going to pop out of their sockets. "W-what do you-"

"The handmaiden," Theon answered matter-of-factly. "You were with her the whole night, Snow. Surely you two must have-"

"No," Jon snapped. "Nothing happened between Bianca and I." He clenched his jaw tightly.

"Jon, you can't be serious." Ryker frowned. "Everyone got fucked last night. I bet even Arabelle let Olyver-" Olyver pushed him out of the chair before he could finish, paying no heed to his brother's laughter.

"And you, Ryker?" Snow demanded, taking a couple paces towards the Manston boy. "Did you lay with anyone last night?"

"The serving girl," Ryker shot back. "Alaena. Tall, green eyes, red hair. Hard to miss her, Snow." He chuckled, pushing his long hair away from his face. He had a smug expression on his face.

"Robb probably got an early wedding present." Theon waggled his eyebrows suggestively, wanting to poke fun at the other Stark boy. "Did you see how quickly he followed Elle out of the hall?"

"_Greyjoy_-" Olyver warned, giving the ward a stern look.

Theon ignored the Manston. "Tell me, Robb, how was-"

"Shut up!" Robb yelled, finally having enough of the crude japes from Greyjoy and Ryker. He glared daggers at his father's ward. Even Elira's twin had stopped laughing once his sister was mentioned. He lowered his voice, now deathly quiet. "You have no right to talk about her that way." Robb clenched and unclenched his fists. The five boys remained silent, no one daring to move.

Jon cleared his throat moments later, hoping to ease some of the tension that had set into the room. "W-we should go." He tried to put a smile on his face, although it didn't quite reach his grey eyes. "You wouldn't want to be late for your own wedding, would you?"

* * *

Robb Stark bounced on the balls of his feet, anxiously awaiting the arrival of his wife-to-be. Eddard put a reassuring hand on his son's shoulder. The Stark boy looked over and saw his lady mother smiling tenderly at him. Robb nervously adjusted his grey and white velvet doublet, which was emblazoned with the direwolf of the Starks.

Lord Merek Manston entered the godswood, a proud smile on his face. On his arm was the blushing bride herself, a coy smile on her face as her eyes met Robb's shining blue ones. Time seemed to slow down, and he could only see her. From her shoulders hung a thick fur cloak, the soaring owl stitched on the back in their blue and gold house colors. Her dress was simple- a long white gown, with lace sleeves that showed off her shoulders and arms- but Robb had never seen anyone look so beautiful before. Her dark hair was loose for once, the ringlets going halfway down her back. He couldn't help but think how untameable their children's hair would be, with both of them having curly locks.

Elira and her father stopped in front of the heart tree. She faced Robb, who watched as Merek undid the clasps and let her cloak fall to the ground. Robb pinned the direwolf cloak to her shoulders, silently promising to protect her, always. They knelt in front of the heart tree and said their vows, the old gods looking down on the newly wedded couple. He cupped her cheek and gently kissed her, officially binding the two together for life. The crowd erupted into cheers as Elira pulled Robb in for another kiss. He helped her stand, a wide smile on both of their faces.

The Stark and Manston households made their way to the Great Hall to celebrate the marriage but Robb held Elira back for a moment. "How are you fairing?" he asked quietly, brushing a tear from her cheek.

"I'm wonderful," she whispered, kissing his clean-shaven cheek. "Now come," she tugged on his hand, "we should go before everyone realizes that the bride and groom aren't present at their own wedding feast."

* * *

The whole evening went by in a blur. To Robb, it felt as if he and Elira had been in the godswood only five minutes past. The singer's song ended and the Stark boy finished his dance with Arabelle. He gave a clumsy bow and muttered his thanks. He made his way to the edge of the dance floor, silently cursing. He had barely even paid attention to who he was dancing with and he had no doubt offended Arabelle. He was brought back to the present when he felt Elira's fingers slip through his. He smiled at her and walked with his wife to the head table.

"Are you getting tired?" Robb found himself asking. She paled and licked her lips, avoiding his gaze. _Shit_. Of course; how could he have been so _stupid_? She was scared for the consummation. "I didn't mean-"

"It's fine." She offered him a weak smile and smoothed out the wrinkles in her skirt. "Let's go, then. The feast is almost over, anyway." She was right: the hall was beginning to clear out.

"As you wish," he replied automatically, linking his arms through hers. He didn't even notice the cheers as they made their way to the corridor. Robb and Elira walked to his chambers- _their_ chambers- silently. Once the door was closed, the pair stared at each other. "We don't have to do this, if you don't want to." He took one of her small hands in his.

She looked at the floor, her expression unreadable. "It is expected of us," she murmured. Her eyes flickered upward and met Robb's. Her hand was shaking in his. He brought it up to his lips and softly kissed her knuckles.

Robb leaned down and gently kissed his wife. He wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling her slightly closer. He didn't want to frighten her by taking things too quickly. Elle wrapped her arms around his neck and Robb was surprised when he felt her nibble on his bottom lip.

In one swift movement, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed, his lips never leaving hers. He gently placed her down and unclasped his cloak, letting it fall to the floor. He joined her in the bed and lay down beside her. "We don't have to do this," he told her once more.

"My husband doesn't want to make love to me?" Elira batted her eyes innocently. Her fingers worked on removing Robb's doublet.

The Stark boy laughed. "I do." He brushed a lock of hair from her face. He kissed her deeply, his tongue probing her mouth. She moaned and Robb felt his breeches become tighter. "I do," he repeated, kissing her neck, his voice rasping. "More than anything." She moaned again when he nipped at her collarbone.

Now that his doublet was off, Elle worked on Robb's tunic. He undid the laces on the back of her gown and helped her wiggle out of it. She flushed when she caught his eyes roaming over her body, which was now only covered by her smallclothes. He kicked off his boots and climbed on top of her. She looked up at him, her hazel eyes wide and her lips slightly swollen. He pulled his tunic over his head and leaned down to kiss his wife.

The rest of their clothes soon joined the others in a small pile on the floor. Robb nestled himself in between her legs, trying to hold back as much as he could. He could see how nervous he was, and he knew it was going to hurt her. She let out a small cry of pain when he entered her. Robb kissed the tears on her face, hating himself for doing this to her. "I'm sorry, love," he muttered. She kissed him, silently forgiving him and giving him permission to continue.

They made love slowly and passionately, their eyes always locked. They cried out each other's names as they came. The two collapsed in each other's arms, both breathing heavily. Robb pulled out of her and rolled off of her, lying next to Elle. He brushed the tear tracks on her face with his thumb, feeling guilty. She kissed him and wrapped her arm around his waist, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Within minutes, the two were asleep. Robb's last thoughts were of his beautiful wife.


	7. Chapter Six

Hey guys! I'm ba-ack! Miss me? ehehe.

So, I wrote a couple of chapters while I was gone; I shall upload the second in a matter of minutes. I also wrote a couple of chapters for The Wolf and the Lion, so look out for those!

Also, we should be entering the canon-verse in a couple of chapters.

Sorry for any mistakes! I didn't send this one (nor the upcoming one) to my betas, so it could be a little rough. I just wanted to get them up, considering I haven't updated for a while.

Speaking of not updating...I'm starting school tomorrow D': I'll be updating less frequently, but hopefully still quite often!

Soooo...I think that's it!

Thanks for reading/faving/subscribing and especially reviewing! Reviews are always nice... ;)

Enjoy!

* * *

**_Elira_**

The girl slowly opened her eyes one at a time. She expected to feel the early morning chill from her window, but instead found herself enveloped in warmth. Elira looked up and saw her husband's sleeping face. She smiled and ran her fingers through his unruly auburn hair. Elle moved to lean on her elbow, his protective arm's hold becoming tighter around her waist. She moved again, entangling her legs with his. Elira winced when she felt a dull pain between her thighs. She figured she would walk oddly for the next couple of days, since Robb had taken her maidenhead the night before.

Robb stirred and his eyes fluttered open. He smiled at her and pushing himself up to kiss her. "Morning, love."

"Good morning." She smiled against his lips. Elle rolled over and reached for her dressing robe, pulling out of his embrace.

Her husband chuckled and twirled one of her long brown ringlets around his finger. "I think your hair is worse than Jon's in the morning."

She whacked him with a pillow. "Leave my hair and I alone," she said mock-threateningly. She shrugged into her robe and walked over to the small vanity in the corner of the room. All of her things had been moved to his chambers the night before. She grabbed her comb and started to pull the tangles out of her hair. Elle looked over at her husband, who was frowning at her, concern in his blue eyes. "What is it?"

"I hurt you, Elira."

She furrowed her eyebrows, confused by his sudden change in behaviour. "What do you mean? I'm fine." He pointed to the spot of dried blood on the bedclothes. Elle sighed. "That's _supposed _to happen the first time, you know," she explained, as if talking to a small child. She walked over to him and sat on the edge of the bed, setting the comb down on the nightstand.

"I know." Robb fell back onto the pillows. "And I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt you." He kissed each of her fingers.

"Robb, it's fine," she said firmly, kissing him square on the mouth. She lowered her voice, her eyes boring into his. "You were gentle, and it was lovely. No other man would have been as considerate as you were." She kissed him again, as if to prove her point. "Now, stop apologizing." Elira snuggled back into his chest. He automatically wrapped his around around her waist and pulled her closer to him. "You're a good husband, Robb Stark."

* * *

Elira, now dressed and groomed, quietly knocked on her twin brother's door. The heavy wooden door creaked open and she took it as her cue to step inside. "Good morning, brother." She smiled, happy that he didn't have a woman in his bed. She had often walked in on him and his current bedwarmer, and she would not like to have those experiences repeated.

"Did he hurt you?" Ryker growled, still groggy from sleep. He threw his dagger into the target that he had painted on the other side of the wall. Elira was taken aback by his question, and was even more surprised by the dark look of fury on her brother's face. "Did he?" Ryker gritted his teeth angrily.

"N-no!" Elle squeaked. His cheek twitched, his jaw now tightly clenched. She blushed and cleared her throat. "No, he didn't hurt me, brother."

"He better not." The Manston boy carved random patterns into the table with a sharp arrowhead. "Because, I swear, if he does-"

"-_Ryker_," she cut him off sharply. "He won't. I know he won't."

Ryker glowered at the wooden table. "What brings you here so early, dear sister?"

She sat down across from him. "Truth be told, I don't really know." He gave his sister a funny look. "I suppose I just wanted to say goodbye. We won't see each other for awhile and…" She trailed off, a tear falling onto the table.

Her twin's mouth quirked up into a sad smile, his earlier anger vanishing. "I'm going to miss you, Elle." He wrapped his sister in a hug as she let out a sob. "Maybe you can come to my wedding," he murmured into her hair.

"I think the married life will do you good," Elira choked out a laugh.

"Think what you will,"

"Treat her well," she instructed seriously.

"I will," he promised, kissing the top of her head. "We'll come see your baby, when the time comes."

Elle playfully shoved his shoulder. "That's going to be in a long time, brother."

"Fine," he huffed. "Then my wife and I will visit you when _we_ have _our_ baby,"

"What makes you think _you'll _have a baby before _I_ will?"

He leaned back and grinned at her. "How can she resist my charm and good looks? I can assure you that we'll be going at it like-"

She rolled her eyes and shoved him again. "Gods save the poor soul who has to marry _you_." Ryker cackled in response. "_I _think that you're letting Sansa's adorations get to your head, brother."

Her twin pouted. "It's nice to get some attention, you know."

* * *

The Stark and Manston families gathered in the courtyard to say their goodbyes. There was a bittersweet ambience that hung in the late morning air. Elira found herself sobbing quietly as she kissed and hugged each of her family members for what could be the last time.

Her mother showered Elle's face in kisses and told her to be a good wife, to which Elira responded with a roll of her eyes and a tight hug. "And send us a raven the _moment _there is words of a baby!" Alys added over her should as she made her way to her husband's side.

"_Mother_!" Elira groaned, hiding her head in her hands. Robb chuckled and kissed his wife on the top of her head.

Lord Merek wrapped his daughter in his strong arms and kissed her once on the forehead, assuring her that he was proud of her. He reached into the pocket of his breeches and produced a thin silver chain. Elira recognized the owl, snake and tiger pendants- the sigils of House Manston, House Bole- her mother's family- and House Toren- her grandmother's family. She'd often seen the necklace around her mother's neck. She noticed that a wolf pendant was added to the chain.

"This was a gift from your grandfather to your grandmother, then to your mother from me. Think of it as a wedding present of sorts." With gentle hands, Merek put the necklace around his daughter's neck. He then gave Robb one of his old longswords, the Stark words specially engraved into the hilt, replacing the painted Manston words. The rusted blade Elira remembered had been reforged, the new Valyrian steel shining brightly in the sunlight. "I figured your own words would be more fitting." Merek smiled, slipping the sword into its scabbard, which was decorated with running direwolves. Robb clipped it to his belt and enfolded his father-in-law in a hug.

Olyver, whom Elira had never been terribly close with, surprised her by kissing her firmly on both her cheeks. "I'm so sorry," his whispered voice shook. "I know I haven't been the best brother, and we were never close. I just want to let you know that I regret it so much, Elle." She let out a cry and clutched onto her brother's doublet. "I love you, little sister. I don't think I ever told you that." Elira's body shook with sobs as he kissed her lightly on the corner of her mouth.

Ryker gave her a quick, tight hug and a kiss on her cheek. She saw tears welling in his hazel eyes. He squeezed her shoulders and gave her a sad smile. Everything they needed to say had already been said.

Flora and Emont cried into Elle's skirts, their tears wetting the woollen material. Elira bent down and hugged them, kissing the two on the tip of their noses. "Everything's going to be fine," she murmured, patting their backs. "We'll see each other soon. I promise." It was hard to say, considering she didn't entirely believe it herself.

Arabelle, who had never been one to show her emotions, was red faced and puffy eyed when she reached her good-sister. "Thank you, Elle," the blonde breathed, taking Elira's hands in her own. "You were the best sister I could have asked for."

Ryker, always the jester, bowed down low in front of Sansa. "My lady Sansa Stark," he drawled, kissing her knuckles. "I must admit that I will miss both you and your remarkable beauty." His suave manner and Sansa's flushed cheeks elicited chuckles from the Starks and the Manstons.

"T-thank you, my l-lord," she stuttered. "You f-flatter me."

He stood up straight, towering over the girl. "My lady, perhaps I should give you something to remember me by."

"A token, my lord?" She couldn't hide the excitement etched on her features.

Ryker's hazel eyes glinted wickedly. "Something along those lines, my lady." As fast as lightning, the Manston boy dipped his head and pulled the Stark girl into a kiss. Elira half-expected Sansa's blue eyes to pop right out of their sockets. Ryker leaned back a moment later, grinning from ear to ear. "I hope you won't forget me, my lady." Elle buried her face in the crook of Robb's neck to hide her laughter, while her husband covered his mouth with his hand, his features a mix of pity and amusement. Theon Greyjoy hooted openly, and Jon Snow looked like he had just seen a ghost. Arya, Bran and Rickon cackled at the expense of their sister. All the others stood speechless in the courtyard.

Sansa's mouth was wide open as she stared at Ryker. She quickly remembered to act like a proper lady, and she regained her composure. "I doubt I will, my lord," she muttered, a small shy smile on her face. Her face and neck were as red as her long hair.

Elira's twin winked at the girl and swaggered off toward his horse. He swung up onto the stallion and saluted to the Starks with two fingers. "It has been a pleasure, Lord and Lady Stark. I do believe that my sister is in good hands. And I sincerely hope you forgive me for stealing your lovely daughter's first kiss." He kicked the sides of his horse and was the first to leave Winterfell.

Lord Manston was the first to recover. "Ned- _Lord Stark_." Merek ran his fingers through his salt and pepper hair. "I will discipline Ryker the very moment we leave, I promise you. I apologize for my son's behaviour-"

A rare grin found its way into Eddard's face. "I believe your son already apologized, Merek."

* * *

"No, sweet, you have to be more careful with the needle," Elira patiently informed Arya. She was already very fond of the young girl, but Arya Stark was _not _the best person to practice needlepoint with. "Otherwise you'll hurt yourself, and we wouldn't want that." Arya frowned in response. Sighing, Elira took the loom from the girl's hands and set it down on the table between them. "Mayhaps we should take a break. We could go see what your brothers are up to, if you'd like." The Stark girl visibly brightened at Elle's suggestion.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Sansa warned, her deft fingers expertly sewing the final stitches in her new dress. "Last time, she got in a lot of trouble with Mother."

"That was only because _you _told!" Arya shouted.

"What happened?" Elira interrupted.

"She practiced with the boys and she got her dress _filthy_," Sansa answered. "It was only a few hours before Rickon's nameday feast, so you can understand how upset Mother was." She turned to her younger sister. "And she had good reason."

"Dammit, Sansa, stop it!" Arya yelled, childishly stomping her feet.

"_Arya Stark_!" Septa Mordane chided. "Watch your language!" The Stark girl groaned and stormed out of the room.

Elle rolled her eyes and stood up, giving Sansa a stern look as she stepped into the hallway. "You're going to apologize to your sister after," she instructed. Sansa nodded reluctantly and had the grace to look ashamed. Elira gave the girl a small smile before following Arya to wherever she had disappeared to. "Arya!" Elle called, holding up her skirts as she made her way down the stairs. "You little wolf, where _are _you?"

She found the Stark girl huddled in the stables a little while later. Silently, Elira crouched next to Arya and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. She stroked the girl's back in an attempt to soothe her, and she listened while Arya cried and vented to her.

"It's not fair!" Arya pouted, furiously wiping her tears away. "Sansa's so pretty and she knows how to be a lady, and she's just so good at everything!" She rubbed her nose. "And I'm just Arya Underfoot."

"That's not true," Elira protested, resting her chin on top of the girl's head. "You're very smart, and I'm sure you'll be a fine warrior, as well as a lady." She kissed Arya's temple. "You're very beautiful, sweet. Don't listen to the others. You'll be a pretty maid, and all the boys will fight for your hand."

Arya sniffled and huddled closer to Elle. "You're a better sister than Sansa."

Elira chuckled. "That's right, we're sisters now, aren't we?" She took Arya's hair out of its loose ponytail and began to braid it. "Siblings fight, sweet. It's natural, I promise. You should have seen Ryker and I when we were your age; always at each others' throats." She smiled ruefully; had she really only seen her twin a few hours past? It felt like a lifetime had gone by. "But we love each other, just like Sansa loves you. I know you may not always like her, but you have to stick together. What are your words?"

Arya sighed. "Winter is coming."

"Just so. And when it does, you'll want your sister by your side." She gave Arya's shoulders a squeeze. "And you have your parents, and your brothers…and me." She pressed her lips to the girl's temple again. "Now, run along. You have a few hours to yourself until we sup." Arya hugged Elira quickly, then dashed into the courtyard. Elle stood up and brushed the hay off her skirts. She left the stables and found her husband close by, a large grin on his handsome face. "What is it?" she asked, stretching up to kiss him.

The cloak Elle had given him for their wedding last night was draped on his broad shoulders and flowed in the light breeze. "I heard you and Arya talking; I think you'll be a great mother," he admitted.

She groaned. "Can we please not talk about children right now? Arya and Sansa have been more than enough today, and frankly, I'm not so sure if I want any. You wolves are such a handful."

He laughed and interlaced his fingers with hers. "We have plenty of time to worry about that." Robb gently tugged on her hand. "I have something for you."

"A present?" When he didn't respond, she figured the answer was yes. She followed him to the castle walls. "Where are you taking me?" she demanded as they went through the West Gate. "Robb Stark, answer me, dammit!" Elle tried to be threatening, but it came out as a laugh instead.

"Close your eyes," he commanded. Reluctantly, she obliged. He led her slowly further and further away from Winterfell. Elira's curiosity grew with each step.

"Are we almost there?" she asked impatiently.

Robb sucked in a breath and stopped walking. "Alright, you can look now."

Elle's hazel eyes snapped open, tired with the suspense of waiting. She gasped with delight and ran over to the beautiful mare awaiting her. "Is this really for me?" She beamed, petting the horse's nose.

Her husband nodded. "She's a gift from my family and I. We thought you might need a horse since yours is going back to Temes."

"Oh, thank you!" She kissed Robb full on the lips. "I love her; she's absolutely gorgeous!" She kissed him again. "What should I name her?"

"It's up to you, love."

She furrowed her eyebrows and stared at the mare. Elira was always terrible with names: her toy dragon from when she was a child had simply been named 'Dragon', and she had suggested that Flora's name be 'Baby'. "You name her," she blurted out.

"Who's someone you admire very much?" he inquired. "I always name things after people I look up to."

"Well I suppose I always looked up to my uncle," she said slowly. "But a man's name would hardly suit a mare." She absentmindedly stroked the mount' neck. Suddenly, Arya's earlier words came back to her. _And I'm just Arya Underfoot_. "_Arya_!" Elle exclaimed. "I'll name her Arya!" She knew that the Stark girl would be happy to have such a beauty named in her honor.

"You look up to my little sister?" Robb asked quizzically.

Arya was determined, fierce and courageous. No matter her young age, she reminded Elle of the brave female warriors from the songs and stories. "I do, actually. Your sister is a great person."

Robb laughed and pressed his lips to her hair. "And just moment ago you said that you've had enough of her today. Now you're naming a bloody horse after her."


	8. Chapter Seven

Bowchickawowow. Here's the next chapter, just like I promised in the last one.

Basically Elira is a Disney Princess in this one. Or maybe that's just in my opinion.

And Jon needs some loving (but not from Elira. Because no. But chapter-wise) Plus, I like writing as Jon. So bonus *thumbs up*

Dododo I decided that I'll close the 'favourite OC' poll probably on Monday, so go and vote! :D

Thanks for subscribing/faving/reading and reviewing! Reviews are positively grand...don't be afraid to make one! ;D Also, any suggestions/ideas for scenes or chapters would be super duper epic.

Enjoy!

* * *

**_Jon_**

Elira Manston, now Stark, approached the three boys, a smile on her pretty face. She seemed pleasant enough, although in the five days since Jon met her, they never really had a chance to get to know one another. Elle had convinced Lady Catelyn to let him come to the feast that first night, and they had shared a dance on her and Robb's wedding night. Apart from that, they were strangers.

"Good morning." Elira sat next to her husband. "Are you boys busy today?"

Theon Greyjoy nodded. "Robb's busy being a little lordling with his father." He took a swig of his beer. "I plan to make a visit to Ros, and Jon's probably going to sulk all day." He shrugged. "The usual." Jon kicked him from under the table.

"Who's Ros?" Elle asked. "Are you getting married, Theon? I would love to meet your betrothed." The three boys guffawed at the prospect.

"She's his favourite whore," Robb clarified. His wife blushed a lovely shade of pink. He smiled and kissed her cheek.

Greyjoy smirked. "Well, would you look at you two? It warms my heart. Nothing like young love."

She ignored the ward's comment. "It's too bad how you three are busy. I was hoping to go for a horse ride today."

"No matter what Theon says, I'm not busy," Jon piped up. "I could take you, if you'd like."

She beamed. "That would be fantastic! I'll meet you at the stables in twenty minutes." Snow nodded. Elira pecked Robb on the lips, then waved goodbye to Theon and Jon.

"Going for a married woman is never a good idea, Snow," Greyjoy warned. "Especially if she's married to your brother."

"Shut up." Jon frowned. "Why can't I spent a day with my good-sister?" Theon just smirked.

"Well _I _think it's a wonderful idea," Robb interjected. "She's your sister now; you should get to know her better."

"Yes, Jon, get to know her better." Greyjoy waggled his eyebrows suggestively. The Stark boys hit him in both shoulders. The ward glared at them. "You two are so dull."

* * *

"I trust you like your new mount?" Jon walked up to Elira, who was humming a familiar tune and running a brush over the mare's back.

"Yes, she's lovely," she gushed. Snow noticed that she had changed into a simple woollen tunic, black leggings and riding boots. Her new Stark cloak hung from her shoulders, making her look as if she'd been a part of the family forever.

"What did you name her?" Jon asked, saddling his own horse.

"Robb said I should name her after someone I admire." Elle put down the the brush and fed the mare a small apple. "I named her Arya." Snow bit his lip to hold back his laughter. A snort escaped him. "What?" she demanded, whipping her head towards him.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," he admitted sheepishly. Elira put her hands on her hips and looked at him expectantly. "Sansa and her friend Jeyne Poole call her Arya Horseface," Jon explained.

She stared at him in horror. "I had no idea!" She chewed on her thumbnail. "Thank you for telling me. Robb didn't, and I wouldn't want to upset her." The girl stroked the mare's neck. "What should I name her, then?"

Jon shrugged. "It's up to you."

She sighed, exasperated. "You Stark men are impossible!" she muttered under her breath. Elle tapped her foot and stared at the mount. "How about Snow?"

"Oh, now you're naming her after me?" he teased, swinging up onto his black stallion.

"I think Ryker rubbed off on you." She rolled her eyes. "But Snow is suiting, isn't it? She's so…light on her feet and graceful."

"You flatter me, my lady," Jon joked. She narrowed her hazel eyes and frowned at him. "Elira, I told you- she's _your _horse. It's your choice."

Elle gave him a triumphant smile as she hopped onto her mount. "Snow it is."

* * *

The two stopped to eat lunch in a small clearing in the forest. Jon felt so small; the tops of the trees and the sky always seemed much farther away when he was in the godswood. The Starks kept the old gods, and so did the Manstons, but the godswood still felt so surreal to them. The gods' presence was so powerful and overwhelming.

"How do you like Winterfell?" Jon asked her. He lay down on the cloak he had spread out. He watched the clouds go by; he always enjoyed finding shapes in them.

"I love it," Elira told him. "It's so different from Temes…yet it still reminds me of home. Especially the godswood. Here, it feels as if I've never left." The gentle breeze ran its fingers through her curly hair. She scowled and quickly plaited her hair.

"Robb is already taken with you," Snow informed her. "He won't stop talking about you." Elle blushed and kept her eyes down. "He even brought up having children. He's never said anything about that before."

"He's going to have to wait awhile," she blurted out. "Not that I don't _want_ his children. I do. I've always wanted children," she added hurriedly. "I'm just…"

"Scared?" he supplied. She bit her lip and gave a tiny nod. "I understand. You're young; we all are."

"It just feels…strange." She unpinned the cloak from her shoulders and spread it out on the group. She lay down next to Jon. "My father was married when he was seven-and-ten, same age as you and Robb. His wife died giving him a stillborn when they were twenty." Elle laced her fingers together and rested them on her chest. "He didn't marry again for fifteen years. My mother was only eighteen when she married him." She gnawed on the inside of her cheek. "They didn't have children for five years. My father never forced her into his bed. He waited until she was ready."

"You'd only find a man like that in a thousand," Snow murmured.

She spoke slowly. "I supposed my father and Robb are rare men." She paused for a moment. "And what about you, Jon Snow? I know next to nothing about you."

"I wouldn't force my wife into anything, if that's what you're wondering."

Elira gave him a soft smile. "That's very kind of you, but that's not what I was asking." She propped herself up on her elbow and stared at him with curious hazel eyes. "There's been some…_talk_." Jon groaned. "More rumours than anything else, really," she said in an attempt to reassure him. "About you and my handmaid, Bianca."

"Not you, too." The Stark bastard covered his face with his hands. "Your brothers and Theon wouldn't shut up about that."

"So it's true?" she said excitedly. "Oh, Jon, that's so romantic! We'll give you two a grand wedding-"

"Nothing happened between us," he interrupted. "She's a lovely girl, but…" He trailed off, not sure how to finish that thought. _But what?_ She was pretty, smart, kind and funny…why didn't he go after her?

"Is there another?" Elle gaped at him. "Jon Snow, I never would have thought of you as such a charmer!" She hugged her knees to her chest. "Who is she? Do I know her?"

"No, there's no other woman." He chuckled. "However, I think that there's another man in Bianca's life." He had never missed the longing looks she'd sent to Theon Greyjoy. _Poor girl_, Jon thought to himself, _Theon wouldn't do more than bed her for a night or two. She'd be heartbroken_.

Robb's wife threw her hands up in the air. "My handmaids don't tell me anything!"

"I could be wrong," Jon lied. "Perhaps she just wasn't interested."

"Well, you have plenty of time to court her," Elle said matter-of-factly. "I could say something to her, if you'd like."

"I don't think playing matchmaker is a good idea."

"Why not? I told Flora to go ask Bran for a dance and-"

"-and Bran never wanted to see another girl again." Snow laughed. "Your sister was practically planning their wedding." Elira pouted. He gave her an apologetic look. "Sorry, Elira, but if I want to court someone, I think I can manage on my own."

"If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me," she singsonged.

Jon stretched. "Shall we head back?"

"In a bit." Elle sprang up. "Wait here." She ran to the tallest tree in the clearing and began to climb it.

He felt his jaw drop. Not even Brandon would climb that tree. "What are you doing?" He was bewildered by her sudden burst of energy, and by how quickly she climbed.

"Climbing a tree, my dear Jon," she shot back, smirking.

"What if you fall? Robb and your brothers would kill me!"

"I won't fall," she concluded. "There are trees taller than this back home." She put her foot on a branch and pushed herself onto an even higher one. "Wolves may not be able to climb, Jon Snow, but owls are meant to fly." She was already halfway up the tree. The Manston girl looked down at him, amused.

"You're a wolf now," he pointed out.

"Not just a wolf." She pulled the thin chain from around her neck and tossed it to him. The necklace landed at his feet. He gingerly plucked it from the ground and examined it. There were four carved and painted wooden pendants; a snake, a tiger, an owl and a wolf.

A soft _thump _made him look him. Elira was suddenly crouching next to him, her fingers gently easing the chain from his grip. "That was given to me so I wouldn't forget who I was." She put it around her neck once more. She fingered the wolf charm. "The wolf was added the day I was married. It's not to replace who I was or am. However, it _will _change who I _will _be." Despite being only five-and-ten, she was wise beyond her years. She tugged on his hand. "Come on, before people start to miss us."


	9. Chapter Eight

Hello peoplez!

Thanks to Charlotte Kenobi (Seanna) for the beta!

Warning: here be sex. Mostly because I wanted to practice for writing sex scenes, because once you step into the ASoIaF/GoT fandom, you can't exactly get away without writing a sex scene at ONE POINT. But this one isn't even so bad. Just putting it out there.

More author's note at the bottom because I don't want to spoil it for you guys!

* * *

**_Robb_**

It had been a month since Elira and he were married. The two had grown very close, and the rest of the family loved her and treated her as one of them. However, Robb had only bedded her on the night they were married; he knew she wasn't ready, and he wasn't about to force her into anything. Still…it was absolute torture to sleep next to her while she was in that thin nightshift, knowing he couldn't touch her.

Robb found her in their chambers in the late evening. She was already in bed and under the furs, engrossed in an old book. Not wanting to disturb his wife, he quietly disrobed, then slipped into his nightclothes. He crawled under the furs and lay down next to Elira.

"Where did you get that?" the Stark boy asked, curling a lock of her hair around his finger. He had always loved her hair- it was soft to the touch, and it framed her pretty face perfectly.

"Maester Luwin let me borrow it," Elle explained, not looking up from the book. "I told him I'd give it back to him tomorrow, so I _have_ to finish it." His wife reminded him of Arya that way: ever determined. "So shut up." She playfully smacked him on the chest. "I'm almost done."

Robb studied her profile, which he had come to know so well; by now, he'd memorized every curve of her face. He knew exactly where every freckle was on her arms and neck. And he'd learnt every shade of her hazel eyes could turn, when and why. _Elira, would you let me touch you and make love to you? _he thought to himself as he watched her slim fingers turn the page. _We haven't made love in a month, Elira…_

"I know, and I'm sorry," his wife sighed, closing her book. It took him a moment to realize that he had said the last part out loud. "I shouldn't refuse you. It's unheard of." She gnawed on her bottom lip. "Yet you don't protest." She turned to him, her eyes boring into his.

"You're my wife," he murmured. "I don't want to hurt you." Elle suddenly laughed. "What? What did I say?"

She shook her head and smiled, placing her book on the nightstand. "You can't be real, Robb Stark. You're too perfect." She laughed again. The Stark boy raised a questioning eyebrow. "You're tall, handsome, charming, kind and sweet…not only that, but you wouldn't do anything to upset your wife." The Manston girl let out a deep breath and fell onto the pillows next to Robb. "It's crazy. I almost don't believe it," she finished quietly.

The Stark boy wrapped his arms around her waist and brought his wife closer to him. He craned his neck and softly kissed her lips. "It's fine. I'll wait." He brushed his lips against her forehead. "Go to bed, love."

* * *

Brandon squinted, focusing on his target. He pulled back the arrow and let it go. He scowled and stomped his foot angrily when it landed in a nearby barrel. He would never give up; no matter how many times he'd miss, he would practice for hours on end, every day.

"Go on," Jon Snow encouraged his half-brother. He put his hands on Bran's shoulders and gave a reassuring squeeze. Robb watched from the sidelines, his arms crossed over his chest. "Father is watching." Both Brandon and Jon turned and looked at Lord Eddard, who was standing on the balcony. Next to him was his lady wife, Cat. "And your mother." Brandon smiled weakly and gave a small nod of his head. The young boy strung another arrow and aimed. Robb and Jon doubled over laughing when the arrow flew ten feet over the target.

"And which one of you was a marksman at ten?" Ned called. "Keep practicing, Bran," he instructed. His voice softened. "Go on." Catelyn gave her son a reassuring smile.

"Don't think too much, Bran," Jon murmured.

"Relax your bow arm," Robb added. The two older boys watched as Bran held the bow tightly, ready to aim. An arrow landed in the middle of the target…while Brandon's was still strung. All three boys whipped their heads around to see a grinning Arya Stark, a bow as tall as her in her hand. She curtsied, before dropping her bow and running away as Bran chased after his sister. Robb and Jon laughed as Brandon shouted as his sister.

"Run!" Eddard chuckled. "Faster!"

"Well, I guess I'm in trouble with Bran, too." Elira laughed. She walked up to the two boys, a large smile on her face. "Arya's a little she-wolf, did you know that? Always using _me _as an excuse to get out of her needlepoint."

"Can't bear to let me out of your sight for so long?" Robb beamed. She held back her smile and playfully shoved his shoulder.

"Alright, you two lovebirds," Jon interrupted, a small smile playing on his lips. "Help me put these away? As you can see, Brandon's no help." Rickon, who was sitting on a nearby bench, sprung up and ran over to the three. He eagerly helped them put the arrows away, asking when he was going to learn how to shoot.

"Maybe you can get Arya to teach you," Elira suggested, pulling an arrow out from a bale of hay. "Obviously, these two are terrible teachers." She smirked and nodded to her husband and his half-brother.

"Robb, Jon. Saddle your horses." Theon Greyjoy swaggered up to the four. "Your father's men captured a deserter from the Night's Watch." With a nod of his head, the ward spun on his heel and headed towards the stables. Jon put the last of the arrows in the quiver and followed Greyjoy and Rickon ran off to find his sisters.

"Be careful," Elle pleaded, clutching onto Robb's doublet. "The last deserter my father captured was claiming to have seen…_things_." She shuddered. "They're mad. And they're _dangerous_."

"I'll be fine," he assured her, kissing her forehead. "I promise." He pecked her on the lips.

She stretched up on her toes and put her lips against his ear. "Meet me in the godswood at sundown." She leaned back, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

"Should I be scared?"

She laughed. "No!" She pushed him in the general direction of the stables. "Now _go_! Your father is waiting!"

* * *

Robb, Jon, Theon and Bran entered the dining hall, the six direwolf pups squirming in their arms. They found Elira braiding Sansa's hair, while Arya was practicing her slashes in the air with a dagger. Rickon sat at Elle's feet and played with one of the toys she had given him.

"Arya, daggers are for throwing," Elira told her, starting a new braid on Sansa's head. "If you want to get good with a sword, you'll have to practice with one."

"Don't encourage her!" Sansa frowned.

Arya caught sight of the four boys. "Puppies!" she exclaimed happily, running over to them. "Do I get one?"

"Pick whichever one you want," Robb smiled. Arya grabbed one of the female pups from Theon's arms.

"She's so tiny!" The young girl stared at the pup. "Sansa! They brought puppies!" She dashed over to her sister. "Look at her! There's one for you, too!"

"Really?" Sansa cried happily as Theon put the other female pup in her lap.

"So one for each of them, but not for me?" Elira teased as Robb sat next to her.

"I didn't get one either," Greyjoy pointed out, pouring himself a mug of ale.

"When we find a kraken, we'll be sure to give it to you," Stark shot back.

The ward snorted and rolled his eyes. "How generous of you."

Robb kissed his wife on the cheek, ignoring Theon. "You can share Grey Wind with me." He handed the direwolf to her.

"Grey Wind, huh?" She took him from Robb's hands. "He's so small," she murmured, gently bouncing the wolf in her arms. "I feel like I could break him with just one touch." Elle stroked the pup's back. "Where did you find them?"

"In the forest," Robb told her. "The six of them were with their dead mother."

"Poor babies." Elira buried her face in the scruff of Grey Wind's neck.

"Nymeria!" Arya shouted. "Not inside!" A servant scurried over and wiped the wolf's urine from the floor.

"_Nymeria_?" Sansa spat out the name as if it had a bad taste. "You named her after the _warrior_?"

"Wolves _are _warriors!" Arya shot back, scooping her wolf in her arms. "And what did _you _name _yours_?"

"Lady," Sansa huffed, sticking her nose in the air. "Since she's actually a _good_ wolf."

"Please, no more fighting!" Elle sounded as if she was about to cry. "At least give me a warning before. I'll leave you with your brothers if you want to fight." Grey Wind whined in her arms.

"Love, every time they open their mouths they fight," Robb pointed out.

Elira sighed dramatically. "Children are such hard work." She gave Grey Wind back to Robb. "Jon!" She called. "What did you name your pup?"

"Ghost," he replied, walking up to the pair. "Would you like to hold him?" Elira eagerly nodded and took the wolf in her arms.

"Robb!" Rickon sobbed, running to the three. "Elira! Jon!" He buried his face in Elle's skirts.

"What's wrong?" the three asked in harmony.

"The wolf!" the youngest Stark cried. Robb's wife handed Ghost back to Jon, then scooped Rickon into her arms. "All of them! They're scary!" _I forgot…he's only six_, Robb thought to himself. He felt guilty for bringing the six wolves home; Rickon would live in constant fear until he got used to them.

"I'll take you to your mother, alright?" Elira murmured, bouncing Rickon on her knee. "She won't let them hurt you." She stood up and held the young boy in her arms.

Robb caught her arm before she left. "Are we still meeting in the godswood tonight?" She bit back a smile and nodded. He grinned at her. "I'll see you then."

* * *

Robb Stark slowly walked through the godswood, the fallen leaves cracking and crunching under his boots. He'd left Grey Wind back at the castle with Jon and Ghost; if Elira was meeting him here at such a late hour, what she had to say must be very important. He wanted to be completely and utterly alone with his wife, with no interruptions.

"You're late," Elira teased.

"Sorry, love. My mother made me put Rickon to bed." She was perched on one of the many logs scattering the floor of the godswood. Robb sat down next to her and kissed her cheek.

"I was beginning to think you wouldn't come," Elira said softly. She wrung her hands together and licked her lips nervously.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." He squeezed her hand reassuringly. "What did you want to tell me?"

She cleared her throat and picked at some imaginary dirt on her skirts. "I was just thinking about our conversation last night." She kept her hazel eyes down, focusing on fingernails.

He lowered his voice. "What about it?" He interlaced his fingers with hers. His wife's silver wedding ring dug into his knuckle, leaving a small imprint shaped as the direwolf head. He never wore his ring for fear of it slipping off his finger and losing it; instead, he kept on a chain around his neck at all times.

Surprising both of them, Elira cupped Robb's cheek and brought her lips to his. She ran her fingers through his curly hair and pulled him even closer, eliciting a groan from him. "I'm so sorry, Robb," his wife murmured against his lips. "I shouldn't have made you wait." Her deft fingers unpinned his cloak from his shoulders and then moved to work at his doublet.

"Please, don't apologize," Stark begged, resting his forehead against hers. "Just let me make love to you." She gave a small nod as his doublet fell on top of the cloak. Robb crushed his lips against hers and clumsily tried to get her out of her dress. She moaned into his mouth when his hand brushed her breast, making his breeches feel stifling and constricting. He fumbled with the ties on her dress, causing her to chuckle and push him away. Elle slipped out of her dress with ease as Robb took the opportunity to pull his tunic over his head.

When he turned back to his wife, she was already completely bare and waiting for him. He pulled her into his lap, desperate to feel her skin against his. "Gods, you're so beautiful," Robb murmured against the soft skin of her neck. Elira let out a gasp and and fisted a hand through his hair, while the other untied his breeches. He nipped at her jaw and neck while she pulled his trousers and smallclothes around his ankles, the sweetest sounds he'd ever heard coming from her lips. He kicked them off and met her mouth in a heated and passionate kiss.

Not able to wait any longer, Robb thrust up into her with one, smooth stroke. Her hazel eyes never left his blue ones as they made love in the sight of the old gods. He learnt where she liked to be touched, and what made her moan the loudest.

Elira cried his name and threw her head back when she came. Robb took the opportunity to kiss and suck at the newly exposed skin. He came a moment later, gripping her hips tightly as he spilled his seed inside her.

Elle reluctantly climbed off of him and sat on the ground. Robb grabbed his cloak and sat next to her, wrapping the cloak around them. He kissed her cheek and ran his fingers through her long, curly hair. They sat in silence, content in each others' embrace for what seemed like hours.

Robb nuzzled her neck and listened to his wife's steady breathing. "We should head back," Stark muttered. He stroked her back with a feather light touch. She nodded, but made no move to redress. He slipped out of the embrace and grabbed his discarded clothes.

A sudden _splash_ made him look up. Elira was looking up at him from the hot springs, a teasing glint in her eye. "The water's lovely, my lord." She smirked. "Why don't you join me?"

Robb gaped at his wife. The moonlight and water drops cast an almost surreal and magical glow on her skin. She reminded him of the sirens in the stories Theon used to tell him. Stark decided that his wife looked just like one, with her long flowing hair and sultry gaze.

The Stark boy hopped into the water and swam over to his wife. He scooped her in his arms and hitched her on his hips. She automatically wrapped her legs around his waist and held onto his shoulders.

They made love much quicker and more urgently than they had before. Robb knew she'd have bruises on her hips and thighs in the morn due to his desperate grip on her. He felt guilty, but _gods_, he wanted her more than anything, and he never wanted to let her go. Elira often dug her fingernails into his back, drawing blood, but Stark didn't care; he didn't feel the pain.

Elira held onto Robb for awhile after they were finished. Her breath came in short, soft pants, her eyes boring into his. She spoke so quietly, he almost didn't hear her.

Robb tenderly kissed her forehead. "I love you too, Elira Manston."

* * *

Back! :D

Alright, so not many scenes here, but we DID step into the wonderful world of canon. Shit's about to get AU in a few chapters. Not majorly, but it WILL indeed progress.

This chapter was basically showing the progression in Robb and Elira's relationship, since (obviously) that's mainly what this story is about. Also, fluff with the Stark kids because man those guys are adorable. And snarky Theon because I think you guys should know how much I love that guy.

I think that's really all I wanted to say.

As always, thanks for reading/faving/subscribing and most definitely reviewing! Mwah!


	10. Chapter Nine

Sorry for the delay! Let me just say that if I could punch school in the face...I would.

First note; the winner of the favourite OC poll is...our lovely Elira Manston! Thanks to everyone who voted!

Second; everyone, go and check out Natti Vogel's rendition of Seasons of My Love! He wrote a ton more verses for the song, and both his piano playing and singing are fantastic! Go on YouTube and look up Seasons of My Love by Natti Vogel! You won't regret it! Of course, I don't own the song; that belongs to GRRM and Natti Vogel!

Third; thanks to Charlotte K for beta reading! Love you, girl! You rock!

Lastly; thanks to everyone who reads/faves/subscribes and most especially reviews!

Enjoy!

More author's note will be at the bottom!

* * *

_**Elira**_

"We need plenty of candles for Lord Tyrion's chamber," Lady Catelyn Stark ordered the servants. "I'm told he reads all night." For the past two weeks, Winterfell was in complete chaos. Ever since the raven arrived, the whole castle was buzzing with excitement and anticipation for the king's arrival. Catelyn wanted everything to be absolutely perfect; she made sure that her children were on their best behaviour, and she was even giving Elira early instructions on how to be the Lady of Winterfell. The whole prospect of becoming the next Lady of Winterfell was rather unnerving to the girl. The closest she had come to any of this were her simple dance and needlepoint lessons. She never had to worry about the responsibilities of ruling a whole castle; she left that to Arabelle.

Elle silently followed Cat and Maester Luwin as they walked through the dining hall, shouting commands and instructions to the servants. She barely recognized the dining hall; all of the tables were reversed and rearranged to accommodate the large royal party they were expecting. She doubted that Winterfell ever had that many guests before; no wonder why Cat was worrying so much.

"_I'm_ told he drinks all night," Luwin chuckled.

"How much could he possibly drink?" Cat shot back. "A man of his…_stature_." From behind the two, the Manston girl grinned foolishly. She had heard many stories of the Imp from her father and uncle; she was anxious to meet him.

"We brought up eight barrels of ale from the cellar," Luwin informed her. "Perhaps we'll find out." Elle could hear the amusement in his voice.

"In any case," Catelyn concluded, "_candles_." The three of them left the dining hall and walked through Winterfell, making sure every tiniest detail was perfect. "Gods, but they grow fast," Cat mused, spotting Bran's direwolf outside the stables.

"_Brandon_!" Catelyn and Elira yelled, spotting the young boy climbing down the tall tower. He hopped down the wall and landed on the roof. Despite his sure footing, Elle was always extremely worried about his climbing. She tried her hardest to be in his presence as much as she possibly could, to ensure that his feet stayed on the ground, where they belonged. He always used the same argument; _"You climb, too!"_

"I saw the king!" Bran exclaimed happily. "He's got hundreds of people!"

"How many times have I told you? _No_ climbing!" Catelyn scolded as she watched her son climb off the roof.

"But he's coming right now!" the young Stark boy protested. "Down _our _road!"

Catelyn took a few steps toward Bran once he landed on the ground. "I want you to promise me _no more climbing_!"

He gnawed on his bottom lip and looked at the ground. "I promise," he said, raising his head to meet his mother's blue eyes.

"Do you know what?"

"What?"

A small smile found its way onto Cat's face. "You always look at your feet before you lie." Brandon grinned in response. "Run and find your father. Tell him the king is close." The boy ran off, a spring in his step, with his direwolf following him.

"Would you like me to find Sansa and Arya, Catelyn?" Elira asked politely. She was already dressed and ready for the king's arrival. Her handmaidens had practically held her down and groomed her the entire morning, saying that the next Lady of Winterfell should look proper and respectable. They even somehow managed to straighten her wild locks.

Cat gave her a tired smile. "That would be lovely. Thank you, dear." Elira bowed her head and scurried off to find the Stark girls. Elira trusted Sansa to be ready, but, knowing Arya, she'd have to take yet another bath and change into a new dress. Hopefully, there would be enough time before the king arrived.

* * *

Elira Manston arrived in the courtyard and slipped into her spot in line in between her husband and Sansa. She nervously tugged at her skirts, smoothing out the wrinkles and picking at the invisible dirt. "You look beautiful. Stop worrying," Robb murmured, squeezing her hand reassuringly.

"Thank you." She felt her cheeks heat up; they'd been married for almost two months, and still, she couldn't take a compliment from him without blushing as red as a maiden. "I must admit, my love," she began, a teasing smile on her face, "you look _much _better with a beard."

His handsome face cracked into a grin. "You should see Jon," he muttered back, subtly nodding toward his half-brother standing behind them. "I swear, he's never met a girl more than he likes his own hair."

"I heard you, Stark," Jon Snow growled mock-threateningly. "Must you always say that?" Elira giggled; she could hear the pout in his voice. She took a small peek at him; the bastard was frowning and self-consciously tugging at his cropped hair.

"Where's Arya?" Lady Catelyn asked, whipping her head from side to side. Elira's hazel eyes widened; _shit_. She had _just _been with her! Where could she have gone? "Sansa, where's your sister?" The red-headed girl just shrugged.

"I just saw her a moment ago!" Elira blurted out. "I don't know where she could have gone-" As if on cue, the Stark girl ran up to them, panting. She wore a helmet too big for her head, which threatened to fall off with every step she took.

"Hey, hey, hey," Eddard stopped her. "What are you doing with that on?" He pulled the helmet from the girl's head. Elira and Robb couldn't help but smiling at Arya. "Go on." The Lord of Winterfell gave the helmet to Ser Rodrik.

"_Move_!" Arya ordered, shoving Bran aside. Her younger brother grumbled something incoherent as he shuffled away from Sansa to make room for her.

Elle spotted Prince Joffrey, sitting upon his horse, a smug smile on his face. His green eyes met the blue ones of Sansa Stark, who was batting her eyelashes at the prince. The Manston girl almost couldn't wait to tell Ryker about Sansa's new love interest; _my dear brother, you've been gone a month, and already Sansa Stark has forgotten about you! Was your kiss truly not as good as she made it sound? _Following him were the Kingsguard and a tall, frightening man in a wolf's helmet. When he pulled up the helm, a scarred and burnt face was revealed. Elira assumed the man was Sandor Clegane, otherwise known as The Hound. A red and gold carriage came next. It halted in the middle of the courtyard.

King Robert Baratheon rode through the castle gates on his stallion, followed by his Kingsguard and the rest of his caravan. Elira couldn't help the frown that appeared on her face; all of the stories she'd heard of him had been about how brave, handsome, strong and gallant he was. Looking at him in the flesh, he was just a fat drunkard.

He stormed over to the Starks, his expensive-looking cloak billowing behind him. With a small gesture of his hand, Ned stood up. The rest of the household pushed themselves off the ground.

"Your Grace." Eddard bowed his head. He and the king stared at each other for a few moments in silence.

"You've got fat," Robert declared. Ned raised his eyebrows slightly and nodded towards the king's protruding stomach. Baratheon and Stark laughed loudly and hugged each other. "_Cat_!" Robert stepped away from the Warden of the North and wrapped an arm Catelyn.

"Your Grace." She smiled. He reached over and mussed up Rickon's curly hair.

"Nine years." The king shook his head, stepping in front of Ned once more. "Why haven't I seen you? Where the hell have you been?"

"Guarding the North for you, Your Grace. Winterfell is yours."

One of the knights jogged over to the carriage and opened the door. Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen hopped out. After them, out stepped Queen Cersei Lannister, with her bright green eyes and long flowing golden hair. The queen wore a beautiful red dress under a thick cloak of beige and brown furs.

"Where's the Imp?" Arya demanded in a hushed voice.

"Would you shut up?" Sansa rolled her eyes. Elira gently nudged the auburn-haired girl; she never liked it when the two girls fought. She almost considered telling Robb that she decided that she _was _serious about not having children.

"Who have we here?" Robert mused, going down the line. "You must be Robb." He shook the Stark boy's hand. His dark blue eyes darted to Elira. "Your wife?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Robb replied, protectively snaking an arm around her waist.

The king nodded sharply. "Lucky boy." Elle smiled and blushed, leaning into her husband's embrace. "Aye, you're a pretty one," He said to Sansa. He bent down and scrutinized the youngest Stark girl. "Your name is?"

The girl licked her lips nervously. "Arya."

Robert moved to stand in front of Bran. "Oi. Show us your muscles." Brandon flexed his bicep, a grin on his face. Robert chuckled and patted the boy on the shoulder. "You'll be a soldier."

"That's Jaime Lannister!" Arya exclaimed, pointing to a member of the Kingsguard. He took off his golden helm and gave his hair a swish. "The queen's twin brother!"

"Would you _please _shut up?" Sansa snapped.

"_Girls_," Elira warned, giving the two of them stern looks.

The queen picked up her skirts and waltzed over to the Starks. Her full lips quirked up at the corners, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. Eddard took her hand and kissed it softly. "My queen."

"My queen," Catelyn echoed, curtsying.

"Take me to your crypt," King Robert ordered. "I want to pay my respects,"

"We've been riding for a month, my love," Cersei protested. "Surely the dead can wait." She stared at her husband with her bright green eyes. Robert, known for doing what he wanted, nodded to Ned and headed towards the crypts. Eddard gave the queen an apologetic look and followed the king.

"Where's the Imp?" Arya whispered. Cersei looked sharply at the young girl and walked over to her twin.

"Arya, they're our guests," Elira reminded the girl quietly. "Be polite."

"Where _is _our brother?" The queen asked the Kingslayer. Jaime shrugged, an amused glint in his eye. "Go and find that little beast."

* * *

Elira thought that she had never seen so many people in one small space. The dining hall was overflowing with the king and his men, along with some travellers, hoping to make some extra coin. She sat quietly by herself; Robb had gone to put Arya to bed after she threw food at Sansa, and Jon wasn't allowed to come to the feast; Lady Catelyn said that an illegitimate child would offend the royals. Unlike the last time, when her and her family came to Winterfell, she couldn't convince Cat to let him stay; she had no say when it came to the royals and the Starks' reputation.

The first few notes of 'Seasons of my Love' echoed throughout the hall. Elle softly sang along as she watched the musicians play their instruments; it had always been her favourite song. Her mother used to sing it to her every night when she put her to bed.

_"I loved a maid as fair as summer, with sunlight in her hair._

_I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair." _

"A dance, my lady?" Robb Stark grinned down at her, a sparkle in his blue eyes. She held back a smile and accepted his outstretched hand. Her husband helped her to her feet and led her to the dance floor. "I must warn you," he murmured in her ear, his breath tickling the side of her face, "I'm a terrible dancer," His words were slightly slurred, giving Elle the suspicion that he'd had a bit too much to drink.

_"I loved a maid as fair as winter, with moonglow in her hair._

_I loved a maid as spry as springtime, with blossoms in her hair."_

"You're right, you _are _terrible." Elira laughed as Robb spun her around. He pulled her toward him once more and pressed their chests together. "I'd think the heir of the Winterfell would be able to do a simple dance."

"I think you dance well enough for the both of us," her husband chuckled. He captured her lips with his own in a hungry kiss. Elira tasted the wine on his lips and tongue.

_"As the land changes masks, so follow my maids and I,_

_Whether balmy hot or sopping wet or cutting sweet and dry._

_Ere my life the good lords fell, I'll prize the memory of each and every lass I've held for a spell._

_The seasons of my love." _

"_Robb_!" she giggled girlishly as his lips traveled down her jaw and neck. "Not here!" She thanked the gods for the dim lighting to hide her blush. She gasped loudly; she could have sworn she saw Cat watching them from her seat on the dais.

"So let's go back to our quarters, love." She felt him smile against her neck. He tugged demandingly at her dress sleeve, trying to expose her shoulder. "No one will miss us." He practically dragged her out of the hall and to their quarters, his hands and lips never leaving her body.

Robb was much more insistent than normal. She figured that the drinking didn't help, but there was also the fact that they hadn't made love for almost a week; both had been busy with their duties and preparation for the king's visit.

Robb lasted longer than he usually did, and they made love several times that night. Elira got so lost in the intense feelings and the pleasure her husband brought her, she didn't even notice the slight pain whenever he entered her. It felt like a tidal wave had hit her; the realization of how much she cared for Robb Stark was alarming and staggering.

Her husband eventually fell asleep in the early hours of the morn. The sun started to make its way back to the tops of the skies, making it impossible for Elle to doze off. She stared at the ceiling, unblinking. 'Seasons of My Love' kept running through her mind, the soft melody soothing her.

_I'll drink one more cup for every lass that I've held for a spell. You are the seasons of my love._

* * *

In the afternoon, a light snow had started to fall. Sansa, Arya and Rickon were excited by the prospect of playing in the snow, something which was rare in the summer, even in the North. Bran was off climbing somewhere, which didn't surprise Elira. She and Jon Snow- who hadn't gone on the hunt with the other men- watched the children laugh and play. Eventually, the three coaxed Elle and Jon to join in on their snowball fight. _It's a shame Robb's missing this_, the Manston girl thought to herself as she hit Jon square in the face with a snowball. _He would have loved it_.

Rickon tugged on her skirts. His curly hair sopping wet and stuck to his forehead. "Go find Bran! It's not fair if it's three against two!" The fight was the girls against the boys. Arya had been the one to make the teams, so of course she'd try to make it as difficult as possible for her brothers.

"Come on, Elira!" Jon agreed.

Elle rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine, fine." With one final glare at a smirking Jon, she spun on her heel and searched for Brandon. She quickly checked the godswood; she knew he loved to climb the trees. Not finding him there, she wandered aimlessly around Winterfell, trying to find the young Stark boy.

After what seemed like ages, she stumbled upon an abandoned and crumbling tower, with vines crawling up its sides. Bran's direwolf was waiting patiently at the bottom, watching his master climb up the huge structure. Brandon was already halfway up the tower, his feet moving with unbelievable speed and surety.

"Bran!" Elira called, a small smile on her lips. "Sweet, come down! We need one more person for the snowball fight!"

"_But Elle_!" the boy protested, his bottom lip jutting out slightly. "I heard something!"

"Brandon-"

"I swear!"

She sighed and put her hands on her hips. "Bran, the tower's abandoned. There's nothing or no one there. I promise you." The Stark boy huffed and furrowed his eyebrows. Nevertheless, he scampered down the side of the tower and bounded over to Elira. "And don't climb this old thing anymore," She added, taking his small hand in hers. "I don't want you to hurt yourself."

Bran's face split into a wide grin. "But I never fall!"

* * *

OKAY! So! The AU has begun! I know making Bran not fall is kind of a huge change, and maybe even kind of a stretch? I don't know. But that's what AUs and fanfics are for!

More, smaller AU aspects will be coming up in the next chapters, and will, with time, speed up until the story is almost completely different from the TV show/books.

Once again, thank you so so so much for everything! I appreciate the attention my story is getting, and I'm so grateful! I love you guys!

Don't hesitate to drop a review! C:


	11. Chapter Ten

Another update already?

Why yes children. Another update.

Okay, I have two big pieces of news!

First one: my friend Charlotte and I have started a Lord of the Rings/Game of Thrones crossover story! If you guys checked it out, that would mean A LOT! It's called "War Is Coming" on the account CasandChar.

Secondly: I have a new poll up on my profile, and I would LOVE it if you guys voted! It would seriously help me out. Or even answering the question in a review or PM would be great. "Would you like Lyra Lannister and Elira Manston's paths to cross?"

Alright, I think that's it!

As always, thanks so much for reading/subscribing/faving and most especially reviewing!

Although you guys probably hate me for not having Robb in this chapter /shot/ SORRY GUYS. I STILL LOVE YOU.

Enjoy! Mwah!

* * *

**_Elira_**

An overwhelming sense of dread washed over the Manston girl as she slowly urged her feet to move, one after the other, step after step. Almost two months ago, she had to say goodbye to her family. Now, just after being acquainted with the Starks, three of them would be going South to King's Landing, and Jon, who had become her closest friend in Winterfell, was going North to take the Black. She hated saying goodbye…but it had to be done.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on Sansa's door. Elira nervously played with the small pouch of presents; she had gotten small tokens for Sansa, Arya, Jon and even Ned. They had become like family to her, and she wanted to show her appreciation in some form, even though there was no way to repay them the Starks' hospitality and kindness.

The door swung open, revealing a beaming Sansa, with her direwolf, Lady, at her feet. "Elira!" She enfolded her good-sister in a hug. "Come in!" She grabbed Elle's hand, leading her into her bedchambers, then slammed the door shut. "How do I look?" the Stark asked, twirling around.

"Beautiful, as always," Elira assured her truthfully. Sansa's long, auburn locks were left loose, except for two tight braids on the top of her head. She wore a woolen light blue dress with darker blue patterns on it.

"Good!" Sansa exclaimed, relieved. "I hope Joffrey thinks so, too!" She sat on the bed next to Elle. "Oh, he's so handsome, isn't he? And he's a _prince_!"

Elira chuckled and folded her hands in her lap. "I'm afraid I can't say anything about the prince; all flatteries are reserved for your brother." Truth be told, Joff _was_ a 'right royal prick', as Robb called him. The entire three weeks he was here, he'd looked down on everyone and treated them like dirt. Tyrion Lannister often had to put him in his place. _Thank the gods for the Imp_, Elira thought wryly.

"And to think that I'll be his queen someday! Elle, can you believe it?" Elira just plastered a fake smile on her face. She didn't want Sansa to get hurt by the golden-haired boy. She almost asked about Ryker, but decided against it. She didn't want to ruin Sansa's good mood.

"I brought a present for you," the Manston girl said, pulling on the drawstrings of the pouch to open it. "So you won't forget me."

Sansa smiled. "I could never forget you." She bounced up and down on the bed. "I'll send you ravens everyday! I'll tell you how beautiful King's Landing is! And maybe you can come see me!" She gasped with delight and clapped her hands together. "You can bring your baby!"

"You'll have to get settled in first, sweet," Elira replied. "And I'm sure it will be a very long time until we have a baby." Sansa's expression fell. "I can come for your wedding! I wouldn't miss it for the world." The Stark's grin returned.

Elle pulled the bracelet out from the pouch and tied it around the Stark girl's wrist. Eight carved wooden charms hung from the chain: eight wolves. "One for each of your family members," Elle explained softly.

"It's lovely," Sansa murmured, tightly hugging Elira. "Thank you." She paused for a moment. "Although there should be one more."

"And why is that?"

"One for you." Sansa leaned back, her lips curved slightly upwards. Tears welled in her blue eyes. "You're a Stark now. You're part of the family."

Elle wrapped her good-sister in another hug, tears swimming in her own eyes. "I'll miss you, Sansa Stark."

* * *

Arya was next. Elira had no doubts that she would miss the little spitfire. She was such a contrast to Sansa, and although she would miss them both dearly, nothing could compare to early morning training sessions with Arya. She was wild, untameable, and, when her parents weren't around, she had a foul mouth. No matter how many times Elira would try to stop her from cursing, Arya wouldn't listen. She couldn't help but think how much Ryker would enjoy the practices; cursing and sparring were his two favourite things.

Arya Stark opened the door even before Elle had the chance to knock. Despite her young age and short stature, the girl looked rather intimidating; she had a thin but sharp sword in her left hand, a mischievous glint in her grey eyes, an almost feral grin on her lips and a direwolf waiting behind her.

"Where did you get that?" Elira demanded in a hushed voice. Arya whipped her head from side to side, making sure that no one was eavesdropping. She took the Manston's hand and pulled her inside the chambers, the door shutting behind her. No matter how often they fought, the Stark girls were not so different after all. _Maybe that's why they fight so much_.

"Tell me where you got the sword." Elle crossed her arms over her chest.

"A present!" Arya's eyes flashed with glee as she reached for the pouch in Elira's hand.

"Not until you tell me where you got the sword," Elle singsonged, spinning away from the young girl.

The Stark huffed a sigh. "You can't tell anyone." She slid the sword back into its scabbard and put it in her trunk.

"I promise."

"Jon gave it to me."

_Gods, is he in trouble. _"It's not a toy," Elira said instead.

"I know." Arya rolled her eyes. "Jon already told me to be careful."

Elle cocked an eyebrow at the girl. "And will you?"

"Yes, yes, yes," Stark retorted impatiently. She tapped her foot and watched Elle with wide eyes. "Can I have the present?" Elira let out a soft laugh and opened the bag. She found herself hesitating as she pulled out the toy dragon; the toy had been in her life for as long as she could remember, and it felt strange giving it up.

"I know you probably don't play with toys anymore, but I know how much you like dragons." She handed the toy to the girl. "He was mine. I've had him ever since I was small."

"He must be very special," Arya murmured, running her finger along the sewn silk scales on the dragon's back. "Thank you." She jumped into Elira's arms and hugged her tightly. "I'm going to miss you so much." Elle felt a tear slide down the back of her neck. She didn't bother wiping it away; instead, she wrapped her arms around Arya's waist and held her closer.

"I'll miss you too." She kissed the Stark girl's wet cheek, her own tears mingling with Arya's. "Keep practicing with your sword and your bow. Every day."

The Stark managed to bark out a laugh. "Jon already gave me this speech."

"Fine." Elle kissed the girl's cheek once more. "You've got a gift, little wolf. Don't let it go to waste."

"I won't. I promise."

* * *

Elira was surprise to find Lord Eddard alone in his study. She expected to find King Robert Baratheon with him, or at least Robb or his other children. The Lord of Winterfell looked up from his quill and parchment paper when he heard her push the door open.

"I'm sorry to intrude, my lord," she said politely, offering a small curtsey.

Ned cracked a smile. "Dear, enough with the formalities. Come in." She nodded sharply and sidestepped into the room, closing the door behind her. "What brings you here?"

"I just wanted to say goodbye to you," she admitted, wringing her hands together. The bag hung from her arm and bobbed up and down with every movement he made. Ned watched her with slight amusement. "And I wanted to say thank you." She took a seat across from him. "You've been so kind to me the whole time I was here. Your whole family, actually."

"_You're _family now, too, Elira," he responded, warmly covering his hand with hers. "You don't have to thank me for anything."

"I brought you something," she blurted out. "I-I mean, well, Bran and Rickon, too." She cleared her throat and tried to suppress her blush. "They were bored one day, so…" She shrugged. "I suggested they make something for you." She pulled two pieces of paper out of the bag and put them on Eddard's desk, side by side. Bran had painted the whole family as stick figures, lined up in the courtyard, huge smiles on their round faces. Rickon, who refused to draw, wrote in huge, messy letters: 'We'll miss you, Father! We love you!' He tried to write his name using the rest of the limited space, but he had to cut it off after the _k_. Elira and Robb had had to help Rickon with the spelling. The thought brought a smile to her face; maybe she wouldn't mind having children, after all.

Eddard smiled warmly, his eyes never leaving the papers. "Thank you." He ran his fingers through his dark hair. "Gods, I'm going to miss them. I can't believe I said yes."

"You'll see them soon, Ned." She squeezed his hand, which was still resting on top of hers. "You can come visit them here, or Robb and I can bring them down South."

"That's a month's trip," he reminded her sadly.

"We can meet somewhere in the middle."

* * *

Jon Snow was her last visit for the day. Saying goodbye to Sansa, Arya and Ned had been bad enough; she wasn't sure if she could say goodbye to him without breaking down in front of him. He'd become her closest friend in Winterfell, and she hated to see him go. She wanted to scream and cry and beg him to stay. But she had a part to play. She was Robb's wife; he was Lord of Winterfell now. She was the Lady of Winterfell, and she couldn't let her emotions get in the way.

She caught Jon just as he swung onto his horse. "_Jon Snow_!" she shouted, running up to him. "How dare you think you could leave without saying goodbye?" He grinned down at her and hopped off the horse. He scooped her into his arms and gave her a tight hug. "I can't believe you're going to North to rot at the Wall for the rest of your life," she said into his thick curls.

"I've heard this speech enough, thank you very much." He chuckled, kissing her on the cheek and setting her back on the ground. She roughly pushed him, making him stumble and lose his footing. He caught himself on his mount's saddle. "What was that for?"

"For giving Arya a sword!" she exclaimed. "What were you _thinking_? Jon, she's eleven!" She threw her hands in the air exasperatedly. "Gods be good, Jon, you _weren't _thinking! That's why she has a damned _sword_!"

"Elira, calm down!" He laughed, putting his hands on her shoulders. She instantly relaxed under his touch. He lowered his voice, the grin sliding right off his face. "I'm sorry if I upset you, but you know how dangerous it can be down South. I had to at least give her some form of protection."

She sighed and closed her eyes. "You're right. I just…I don't want to see her get hurt, that's all." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. Her eyes flashed open, a wicked grin suddenly on her face. "You didn't think I was going to let you leave without a present, did you?"

"No, although I expected the confrontation." His smile returned. "I wouldn't have expected anything less from you." Elira laughed and shoved him again. "So, what is it?"

"What's what?"

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "The present!"

"Oh, right!" Her cheeks flushed as she held out the pouch. He gingerly took it from her hands and eyed her suspiciously. "Oh, come now, it won't bite," she teased. _Actually…I take that back. But I'm not spoiling the surprise for him_.

"Liar!" Jon snorted, as if reading her mind. He slipped the dagger out from its scabbard, the cold steel shining in the sunlight. He examined the hilt; sleek, smooth dark cherry red dragonbone. "I love it," he declared, slipping the dagger back into the scabbard. He attached it to his belt before enfolding Elira in another hug. "Thank you." He kissed the top of her head.

"I can't believe you're going," she breathed, clutching onto his cloak. _Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry…_

"Come visit me after I take my vows." He soothingly ran his hands up and down her arms. "And we can go riding beyond the Wall," _if you're not scared_. His earlier parting words to Bran and Rickon this morning rang in her ears.

"Jon!" Benjen Stark called, bringing his horse to a trot as he neared the pair. "Come along; we've got a long journey ahead of us."

"Yes, of course." Jon nodded, pulling out of the embrace. He gave Elira an apologetic look before swinging himself up onto his horse. Benjen looked at her and slightly bowed his head as a sign of respect before he took off. It took her a moment to remember that she was the Lady of Winterfell now; she should get used to this behaviour. "Goodbye, Elira Manston."

"It's Stark now," she corrected. She managed a smile through the tears.

"Right, _Stark_." He smiled ruefully. "We'll meet again. I promise." With one final glance at her, he rode through and past the gates of Winterfell. Promises. That's what today was filled of. Empty, obligatory promises.

She stayed that way for awhile; just watching the now empty Kingsroad ahead of her. The tears froze on her face in the ever-cooling air. Sansa. Arya. Ned. Jon. They were all gone.

_Goodbye Elira Manston…we'll meet again…I promise…_

"Goodbye, Jon Snow," she whispered, the words barely audible over the sound of the howling wind. _You seem to forget that you're a Stark, too…not in name, but in blood. You'll always be a Stark to me, Jon. _


	12. Chapter Eleven

So this one's kind of short, but boom big reveal! And let me just say that fire is the ultimate cockblock...also, Internet cookies to anyone who gets the Star Wars reference!

Thanks to Seanna (Charlotte K) for the beta! Mwah!

Remember, children: there's still the poll on my blog that needs votes! So go go go!

Thanks for reading/faving/subscribing and, of course, reviewing!

Enjoy, loves!

* * *

**_Robb_**

Despite being Lord of Winterfell for only a week, the pressure and expectations were already taking their toll on him. He felt as if he hadn't slept in a month, and his shoulders seemed permanently weighed down. He wasn't even sure of when he spoke to his wife last; he would always come into their chambers much too late for anything, and he was stuck in his father's study all day. Only now did he have some time to relax, since his mother offered to make the appointments.

Robb Stark pushed the door open to his chambers, his mood instantly brightening. He saw Elira was combing her hair in front of the vanity, humming tunelessly. She turned around at the sound of his footsteps. "Long time no see, my lord." She put down the brush and stood up, taking a few steps towards him. "Is my husband too important now to see me?" she teased. He responded by closing the space between them and pressing his lips against hers. She stiffened for a moment before pulling away.

"Are you alright?" Robb inquired, concern in his voice. He rested his hands on her waist. He pressed his forehead against hers and kissed the tip of her nose.

"Something wonderful has happened," Elle breathed.

"Tell me." She slowly took his hands off of her waist and placed them on her stomach, her eyes never leaving his. Realization hit him like a tidal wave. "W-we're having a baby?" he managed to blurt out. His wife nodded, her face cracking into a grin. He lifted into the air and spun her around, unable to hide his excitement.

Wolves howling and dogs barking outside the window snapped him out of his reverie. The howls were then accompanied by screams of terror. Robb put his wife down and rushed to the window. "Fire!" he shouted, rushing past Elira. "Go check on Bran and Rickon." He tied his belt around his waist, his hand tightly gripping the hilt of the longsword Lord Merek Manston had given him. "Take your sword," he added.

"Will you be alright?" she asked, her hazel eyes wide.

His expression softened as he watched her fumble with her dagger. Pure fear was etched on her features. "I'll be fine." He pecked her on the lips.

"Be careful," she said seriously.

He kissed her once more. "I will."

* * *

**_Elira_**

She ran as fast as she could to Rickon's room. She thanked the gods that it was just down the hall, and in the same thought, prayed that everything would be alright. Surely the fire was an accident…_Of course it is. Stop being stupid, Elira._

She peeked in Rickon's room; the young boy was sound asleep, his face relaxed and peaceful. Quietly, she shut his door and loosened her grip on her dagger. From across the hall, she heard shouts and shrieks. Elira's sweaty hands wrapped tighter around the dagger once more. She tiptoed to Bran's door, which was wide open.

"Brandon, _go_!" Elle heard Lady Catelyn yell. In the dim light, the Manston girl saw Cat struggling with a dirty, hooded man. A blade was digging into her hands, blood seeping into her sleeves and dripping down her hands and onto the floor.

"_Cat_!" Elira shouted, sheathing her dagger. She pulled her sword out of its scabbard, the steel shining in the candlelight. The dirty man turned away from Lady Stark for a moment to look at Elle. Seeing the opportunity, Catelyn ducked out of his grip and reached for Brandon, who was cowering in the corner. Just as Elira was about to swing her sword, Summer, Bran's direwolf, leaped into the air and pounced on the man. His blade fell out of his hand as he hit the ground. Elle, Cat and Bran looked on in shock as Summer ripped out the assassin's throat.

"Mother!" Rickon squeaked from the doorway. Tears streamed down his face as he tightly clutched his stuffed toy bear. He ran into his mother's arms, his body shuddering with sobs. Brandon crawled over to them and joined the embrace. Elira collapsed onto the floor next to the three, her hands shaking violently. She clumsily slipped her sword back into its scabbard and stared at the blood all over the floor.

"Seven hells," Theon Greyjoy breathed. She hadn't even noticed that he had come into the room, nor had she noticed how close he was to her. "What happened?"

"H-he tried t-to kill B-Bran," Elle stuttered, her breathing shallow and erratic. "T-the w-wolf-"

"Come with me," the Ironborn urged, gently tugging on her hand. "We'll get you cleaned up. I'll send for Maester Luwin to help with Lady Catelyn."

"M-my husband-"

"He's fine," Theon assured her, helping her to her feet. "The fire's almost gone; he sent me to check on you." She gasped and tripped over her own feet. Greyjoy caught her in time and put a steadying arm around her waist. He helped her to her room and carefully set her down on the bed. "Is there anything you need?" His voice was soft and soothing, which was a complete contrast to his usual loud and outspoken self.

"N-no," she bit her lip until she tasted blood. "G-go back t-to Cat and the b-boys. Th-they need help." Her eyes met his cloudy grey-green ones; they reminded her of a sea storm. Theon gave a sharp nod and tore his gaze away from hers. "T-thank you," she muttered, hugging her knees to her chest.

"Goodnight, Lady Stark."

* * *

**_Robb_**

"What I am about to tell you must remain between us," Catelyn said, her voice as hard as steel. Robb, his mother, Elira, Theon, Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin were in the godswood. All were still shaken up about what had happened the night before. Bran and Rickon were placed under the highest protection; neither of them knew what was going on. "Someone tried to kill him. _Why_? Why murder an innocent child? Unless…" She paused for a moment, her expression slightly uncertain. "Unless he found out something he was not supposed to."

"Like what, my lady?" Greyjoy questioned.

"I don't know." She shook her head sadly. "But I would stake my life the Lannisters are involved. We already have reason to suspect their loyalty to the crown." Next to Robb, Elira put her hands on her stomach and swayed nervously from side to side.

"Did you notice the dagger the killer used? It's too fine a weapon for such a man," Rodrik pointed out, unsheathing the weapon. "The blade is Valyrian steel, the handle dragonbone. Someone gave it to him."

"M-my lady," Elira interjected, gnawing on her lip. "Bran…h-he had said that he _heard _something." She shook visibly. "I found him climbing the tower. When he came down, he said that he had heard something."

"They come into my home…and try to murder my brother?" Robb furrowed his eyebrows. "If it's war they want-"

Theon stepped forward. "If it comes to that, you _know _I'll stand behind you-"

"Is there going to be a battle in the godswood?" Luwin interrupted. "Too easily do _words _of war become _acts _of war. We don't know the truth yet." He turned to Catelyn. "Lord Stark must be told of this."

"I don't trust a raven to carry these words," she replied.

"I'll ride to King's Landing," Robb declared.

"_No_," Cat concluded. "You have a babe on the way, and your father entrusted _you _to rule while he is gone. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell." She held her chin high. "I will go myself."

"Mother, you _can't_-"

"I _must_."

Cassel spoke up. "I will send Hal with a squad of guardsmen to escort you."

"Too large a party attracts unwanted attention," Cat protested. "I don't want the Lannisters to know I'm coming."

"Let me accompany you, at least," Rodrik compromised. "The Kingsroad can be a dangerous place for a woman alone." Luwin nodded in silent agreement.

Lady Catelyn pressed her lips together in a firm line. "Ser Rodrik; we will ride on the morrow."


	13. Chapter Twelve

Hai! :D

Really not much to say about this chapter...some pregnancy fluff and fun ensues, but mostly just depressed Branflakes :c

Thanks for reading/faving/subscribing and reviewing!

Mwah!

Enjoy!

* * *

**_Robb_**

As he approached his younger brother's door, he heard Old Nan telling Brandon a story about the winter that'd lasted for a generation. He felt a shiver go down his spine; no matter how long ago that was, it still chilled him to the bone. He tried to convince himself that the long night was nothing more than a myth. The White Walkers weren't seen for thousands of years…surely they couldn't have been here in the first place? _The cold winds are rising… _Robb could have sworn that he heard his father's voice whisper in his ear. _"Robb…winter is coming."_

Robb pushed open Brandon's door, interrupting the end to Old Nan's story. A large grin found its way onto his face when he saw his younger brother's frightened expression. No matter how brave Bran tried to act, he was still terrified of Old Nan's stories. "What are you telling him now?"

"Only what the little lord wants to hear," the old woman replied innocently. Ever since the attempt on Bran's life, he was in constant company, and with maximum protection. Robb hated seeing the boy treated as if he were a criminal, but it had to be done; as Lord of Winterfell, he couldn't spend every waking moment with his brother, no matter how badly he wanted to.

"Get your supper- I want some time with him." Old Nan stood up and gave a small curtsey before brushing past Robb. He always tried to see Bran as much as possible; usually, it would be later on, before bed. After Old Nan closed the door, he smirked at his brother, who watched him with wary blue eyes. "One time, she told me the sky is blue because we live inside the eye of a blue-eyed giant named Macumber."

"Maybe we do," Brandon shot back quietly.

Robb sighed and sat on the bed next to his brother. "How are you feeling?" Brandon stared at him with cold eyes. "Bran, everything's going to be alright."

"Mother left because of me!" he protested, pushing himself up to lean on his elbows. "Father's gone, Sansa's gone, Arya's gone and now _Mother's_ gone!" Robb just stared at his brother. He didn't have any argument or retaliation. The boy was right.

* * *

The second he stepped into their hallway, his hand flew to the hilt of his longsword. He dashed down the corridor, sidestepping past servants and pushing past guards. None of the other people seemed to notice the loud cries and sobs coming from his and his wife's quarters. "She's been like that all day," one of the guards complained. Robb didn't miss the roll of his eyes. Glaring daggers at the guard, he pushed the door open and quickly slammed it behind him.

"Elira?" he gaped at her, his hand falling off the pommel. His wife was curled up in a ball in the middle of the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Love, are you alright?" Robb hung up his cloak and took a seat next to her.

"I don't know!" Elira shouted, collapsing into his arms. She fiercely swiped at her eyes. "I-I was fine one moment, and then…" Her lower lip trembled and another wave of tears swam in her hazel eyes. "Maester Luwin said that it was normal," she sniffled. "The mood swings, I mean. What with the baby and whatnot-"

He cut her off, suddenly feeling panicked. "You mean this is going to be happening often?" She nodded her head and furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "I-it will just take some getting used to, that's all," he said hurriedly, hastily kissing her full lips. He moved his hands to her slightly swelled abdomen, and thought he felt a small movement under his palm. "Did the babe just-"

"Kick?" Elle smiled softly through her tears. Gently, she placed one hand over his, and brushed away the hair from his face with the other. "It's possible. He's growing every day."

Stark quirked up an eyebrow at her. "He?"

"I think we'll have a boy," she admitted.

"Well _I _think we'll have a girl," Robb countered, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Both the Starks and the Manstons have boys for firstborns," she protested. "They _always _do. It's known." One of the many things he learned from his mother and father was to never argue with your wife. He figured the rule doubled if said wife was carrying a child. He just responded with a light kiss on her cheek. "I promise," Elira concluded. "Our babe _will_ be a boy."

* * *

"I must admit that I received a slightly warmer welcome on my last visit," Tyrion Lannister quipped. He stood in front of Robb, Elira and Maester Luwin, his mismatched eyes watching the three intently. He had finished his trip to the Wall, and was now passing through Winterfell on his way back to King's Landing. Accompanying him was Yoren, a brother of the Night's Watch, who was sent on a recruiting mission.

"Any man of the Night's Watch is welcome here at Winterfell," Robb brushed him off, his tone icy. Yoren gave a small nod of the head in gratitude.

"Any man of the Night's Watch, but not I, eh, boy?" the Imp smirked. The Stark boy did not miss the fleeting glance he gave to his wife. Under the table, he clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to control his temper.

"I'm not your boy, Lannister," he managed to grit out.

He felt the toe of Elira's boot connect with his shin, but he paid no heed. "_Robb_-" she warned. Once Tyrion's visit was announced, she had been constantly reminding him to act respectful and courteous; _"A lord must welcome his guests with open arms."_

He ignored her. "I am Lord of Winterfell while my father is away."

"Then you might learn a lord's courtesy," the dwarf countered smoothly. Out of the corner of his eye, Robb saw the subtle yet triumphant smile on her lips.

As if on cue, Theon Greyjoy sauntered into the hall, with Bran, Rickon and the local stableboy, Hodor, in tow. The youngest Stark instantly dashed over to Elle and sat at her feet, his direwolf, Shaggydog, obediently following him. Brandon stood tall, with a look of determination on his face.

"Hello, Bran," Tyrion greeted the boy politely. "How are you?"

"Fine." The boy's lips were pursed into a fine line. He watched the Imp, unblinking. Theon slipped past the two and took a seat on the raised dais next to Elira.

"Bran, if I may be frank, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Go ahead, my lord."

The Lannister got straight to the point. "Do you have any idea as to what could have caused the attempt on your life?" Robb and Elira instantly stood up at the same time, their eyes flashing with anger. "Lord and Lady Stark, please, I meant no offence." The Imp raised his hands in defence. "I only wish to help."

"Brandon did _nothing_ wrong," Elle snapped, her hands protectively flying to her stomach. She lowered her voice and sat back down, the redness slowly disappearing from her face. "My lord, we know nothing of what happened." She tugged on Robb's sleeve, beckoning to come sit back down. He reluctantly obliged, his eyes never leaving Tyrion's.

"How peculiar," the dwarf mused. "Well, I will do the very best I can to help you unravel this…_mystery_, if you will." He offered Brandon a small smile.

Elle kicked Robb in the shin once more and looked at him expectantly. He sighed quietly and closed his eyes. "You have done my brother a kindness. The hospitality of Winterfell is yours." The empty words of kindness seemed to leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Spare me your false courtesies, _Lord Stark_," the Lannister shot back. "There is a brothel outside your walls. There, I'll find a bed, and both of us can sleep easier." He spun on his heel and began to walk out of the hall.

"My lord, wait!" Elira called after him. Slowly, he turned around and looked at her quizzically. "H-how is Jon doing? Is he alright?"

His mismatched eyes sparkled with a glint of amusement. "He is doing quite well, Lady Stark." He bit back a grin. "He misses all of you very much."

Satisfied with the answer, Robb's wife beamed at the dwarf. "Thank you, my lord." With one final nod, he exited the hall, his guards dutifully following him. She turned to Robb, a pleased expression on her face. "Well, that could have gone a lot worse."


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Hullo! :D

My brain is just kaput. Like seriously. This week was dreadful and it took its toll on me. So sorry if this chapter sucks.

Thanks to The Lady Bard for the beta! Mwah!

There's still the poll on my profile...I'll probably close it by the end of the week.

Also, check out 'War Is Coming', a Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones crossover! It's by me and my dear friend, Charlotte.

Thanks for reading/faving/subscribing and, of course, reviewing!

Enjoy!

* * *

**_Elira_**

Another arrow landed in the target with a solid _thwack_, a sound she had grown accustomed to during the last few weeks. With Cat gone, all of her duties fell on the shoulders of Elira. While Robb was off being the Lord of Winterfell, with Luwin always by his side, she was left alone with Brandon and Rickon. Luckily, Theon Greyjoy was around to keep her and the children company, and he helped her out if she needed it. Under his selfish and egoistic exterior, he was a kind, caring and genuine person. Of course, he only showed his softer side when they were alone. He often stayed up late with her when Robb wasn't around to help her deal with her pregnancy. On more than one occasion did he have to run up and down the stairs several times to get whatever food she craved from the kitchens. He also learned to deal with her frequent mood swings, and for that, she was thankful.

Elira snapped her fingers in front of Brandon's face, trying to regain his attention. "Bran, sweet? Come on, you have to finish your lessons." She pointed to Pyke on the map of Westeros Maester Luwin had lent her.

He sighed and rested his chin on his hand. "The Iron Islands. Sigil, a kraken. Words, 'We Do Not Sow.'" Another one of Theon's arrows hit the center of the target.

"Good," she praised. "What about their lords?"

"The Greyjoys."

Theon turned around, his infamous smirk present on his smug face. "Famed for their skill at archery, navigation, and lovemaking." He laughed loudly and winked at Elle. She glared at him, not amused. He frowned and strung another arrow, facing the target once more. Despite being seven years senior to her, she often felt older than him in their relationship, much like with her twin. _When Ryker leaves, Theon stays._

"Next one," she declared, pointing to King's Landing.

"Sigil, a stag. A _crowned _stag, now that Robert's king." Bran dug into the wooden table with one of his mother's silver trout brooches. "Words, 'Ours is the Fury.' Lords, the Baratheons." Elle nodded and pointed to Casterly Rock. "The Westerlands. Sigil, a lion. Words, 'A Lannister Always Pays His Debts.'"

"No." She held back a sigh; he wasn't concentrated today at all. She felt as if it was partially her fault, since she was sitting here making him recite the houses for the umpteenth time. "A common saying, yes, but not the official house words."

He looked at her and narrowed his blue eyes. "Lords, the Lannisters-"

"Brandon, we're still on their words." She clenched her jaw tightly, meeting his icy gaze.

"I don't know them-"

"Yes, you do." She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. _Gods, why must all Starks be so bloody stubborn? _"We did this just yesterday-"

"So I shouldn't have to repeat them today." He held the silver trout so tightly, she feared that it would pierce a hole in his hand.

The girl pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're being very unreasonable."

"'Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken,'" Brandon gritted out. "The Lannister words."

"That's House Martell. I know you know that." Theon looked at her over his shoulder, a small smile playing on his lips. She shot him a pleading gaze. He just shook his head, chuckling silently.

"'Righteous in Wrath.'" The boy continued to dig into the table.

"That's House Hornwood," Elle replied, annoyed.

"'Family, Duty, Honor.'" She didn't miss the tiny smirk on Brandon's face.

"Those are the Tully words. Your _mother's_." She pursed her lips together and set the maps back down on the table. "Come now. What's wrong?"

"'Family, Duty, Honor,'" He repeated, feigning innocence. "Is that the right order?"

"You know it is."

"Family comes first." His anger vanished, sadness and regret replacing it.

Realization dawned on Elira. "Your mother had to leave Winterfell," she spoke slowly and was careful with her words; she didn't want to upset the boy again. "She went to protect the family. Sweet, you _know _what happened-"

"How can she _protect _the family, if she's not _with _her family?" He stopped picking at the table and tossed the brooch from one hand to the other.

She lowered her voice and put her hand on his arm. "Do you know how hard it was for her to leave?" She remembered all the tears that were shed on the day Lady Catelyn left Winterfell. Her mental list kept on going. _Ryker. Olyver. Arabelle. Mother, Father, Uncle. Emont, Flora. Ned. Sansa. Arya. Jon. Catelyn._

"She still left," Bran snapped. He paused for a moment and took a deep breath. "Robb promised that he would take me riding today." The boy scowled. "But _no_, he's too busy for me now."

"Brandon, don't be like that," she pleaded, brushing his long hair away from his face. "You know he's Lord of Winterfell now. He has a lot of things to do and to worry about."

"He'd have fewer things to worry about if Mother were here," he spat, as if the words had a bad taste in his mouth. "Do you know when she's coming back?"

"She'll be home soon."

"Do you know where she is now? Today?"

She closed her eyes and leaned back into her seat. "I honestly have no idea." The Lady of Winterfell rested her hands on her slightly swollen stomach. Her lips twitched upwards at the corners; Robb was practically counting down the days until the baby arrived. Whenever he'd see her, he'd put his hands on her belly to feel for movement, or he'd kneel down and press his ear against it, hoping to hear a heartbeat.

"Then how can you promise me she'll be home soon?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that question," Elira admitted sheepishly. "Your mother will be home when she is home." She opened her hazel eyes and watched Bran. "Go play with your brother. You've had enough lessons for today." He eyed her with wary blue eyes before springing out of his seat. He ran off in search of Rickon, his direwolf, Summer, loping behind him.

"Did he give you a rough time, or what?" the ward teased. Theon began to clean up the archery range.

Elle snorted and rolled her eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at the Ironborn. "Fat help you were, Greyjoy."

* * *

She found her husband in his study late at night. An almost empty pitcher of ale was next to him on the table. He was holding his head in his hands, and she wasn't sure if he was awake or not. Robb mumbled something incoherent to himself and pressed the pads of his fingers to his temples.

She pulled her robe tighter around her body. "Robb, love?" Elira tried. She sat down next to him, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. "Are you alright? You've been in here all night."

"I'm fine." His words were slightly slurred and the smell of alcohol clung to him. "There are just so many things to do…" he trailed off and frowned.

"I can help you tomorrow, if you want," she offered. "I can leave Bran and Rickon with my handmaids-"

He cut her off. "Theon told me about what happened with you and Bran." He ran his hands through his curly, messy hair. "I'll talk to him tomorrow. I'm sorry-"

"Don't be," she said gently, putting a hand on his forearm. "He's upset, that's all. He has reason to be/" She leaned over and pressed her lips to his forehead. She interlaced her fingers with his. "Come to bed." She gave his hand a small tug. He smiled at her and let her lead him to their quarters.

The moment Elira closed the door to their chambers, Robb pushed her against the wall and took possession of her mouth. With frantic hands, he tore off her robe and nightshift, hastily throwing them on the floor. She undressed him as his lips explored her neck and shoulders. He kicked off his boots and carried her over to the bed.

The drinking always made him seek out her touch. It made him desperate and needy to feel her skin against his. After not seeing him for almost two days, and not making love for a week, she didn't mind. In fact, she rather liked it. She enjoyed how no one else saw him like this except her.

Robb kissed every inch of her body at a maddeningly slow pace. His lips traveled downwards and he kissed her in between her legs, making her moan and writhe underneath him. She forgot any words other than her husband's name, and even that didn't sound coherent in her ears. Elira was certain that everyone in Winterfell was able to hear her when she cried out his name as she came.

"Gods, I've missed you," Robb groaned as he thrust into her. Elle arched her back and met his lips in a heated kiss. She moaned into his mouth and wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer to her. He rolled them over so she was on top, his lips never leaving hers.

His hands and mouth roamed her body, eliciting loud moans from her. Pleasure coursed through her veins and she found it difficult to think straight. She managed to stutter out his name before she came, her hands tangled and tugging at his auburn curls. He moaned her name a moment later and gripped her hips tightly as he spilled his seed inside her.

"I love you," Elira breathed, collapsing onto his chest. She buried her face into the crook of his neck and traced random patterns on his chest with her finger. Robb kissed her shoulder and ran his hands over her belly. "Robb, there won't be much of a difference since yesterday." She let out a small chuckle and kissed his cheek.

"Was it only yesterday?" he asked, mesmerised.

She laughed and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Be patient, my wolf. He'll be here in no time."

"Still set on the babe being a boy?" he teased. She beamed and nodded, placing her hand over his on her stomach. "And I won't be able to change your mind, will I?"

She shook her head, her grin widening even more. "Not for the world."


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Was this update fast? I think it was...maybe I'm just thinking that because the school week was shorter and it screwed with my brain. So yeah.

GUYS LISTEN UP. I made a Facebook page, and it'd be super awesome if you guys would 'like' it! It'll give you updates as to when my chapters are posted, and you'll get some sneak peeks for upcoming chapters and stories and chiz. Also, I just find it kind of cool because it's a lot more personal than this.

So anyway the Facebook page is Leapylion3 Fanfiction. Go like it guys. I'll love you forever (but I already kind of do, so I can only bribe you with more previews and stuff...)

Thanks to The Lady Bard for the beta!

And thanks to everyone who reads/faves/subscribes and, of course, reviews! You guys rock!

Enjoy!

* * *

**_Robb_**

Brandon Stark laughed and shouted with glee as he kicked his horse into a fast gallop, the wind blowing through his long hair. He was far ahead Robb and Theon, whose mounts were trotting at a leisurely pace. Today was a relatively quiet day in Winterfell, so Robb had decided to finally take Bran on the promised excursion. The sun was shining brightly, in contrast to the usual dark, gloomy aura that was set upon Winterfell ever since the Starks had separated.

The young lord halted his horse and swung off of its back. Greyjoy followed suit and sat next to him on a nearby log. Brandon kept on going, a large grin on his face. The boy hadn't been riding in such a long time; it was good to see him smiling again. "Not too fast!" Robb called out to his younger brother, who was urging his mount to go even quicker in the small grassy clearing.

"When are you going to tell him?" Theon asked.

The smile fell right off of Robb's face. "Not now," he replied, eyeing Bran as he galloped around the clearing.

"Blood for blood," the ward said simply. For once, his signature smirk was nowhere to be found. "You need to make the Lannisters pay for Jory and the others." _Not now, please_, Robb silently begged. The news had arrived a couple days past, and he couldn't seem to get his mind off of it. Elira had broken down when they found out about the betrayal and treachery. Stark tried to be strong; he held his wife, but he found himself weeping with her in the dead hours of the night.

Robb pursed his lips and let out a sigh. "You're talking about war." He focused on Brandon, who had a bright smile on his face, yelps and shouts of glee escaping his lips.

"I'm talking about _justice_," Greyjoy protested. Stark shook his head, but had no argument; the Ironborn was right. He had no valid reason not to march down to King's Landing and cut off the Kingslayer's damned head.

"Only the Lord of Winterfell can call in the bannermen and raise an army."

Clearly, Theon would not hear any of the Stark boy's futile objections; he was right, and he knew it. The ward was stubborn, and he wouldn't back down. "The Lannister put a spear through your father's leg. The Kingslayer rides for Casterly Rock where no one can touch him-"

Robb raised his voice, finally snapping. "You want me to march on Casterly Rock?" His first thought was of Elira and their unborn babe. If he _were _to march, he'd have to leave her here. There was no way in hell he'd let her follow him into war. He couldn't imagine being without her…and what of the babe? What if he died, and the babe was left without a father?

"You're not a boy anymore!" Theon shot back, practically yelling now. "They've attacked your father; they've already _started _the war! It's _your _duty to represent your house when your father can't."

"And it's not your duty," Stark lowered his voice and glared at the older boy with piercing blue eyes, "because it's not your house." The Lord of Winterfell clenched his jaw tightly and looked away. He furrowed his eyebrows and met Greyjoy's gaze once more. He stood up, his gloved hand gripping the pommel of his longsword. "Where's Bran?"

"I don't know," the ward admitted, shooting up off the log. His features donned a subtle yet smug expression. "It's not my house." His words stung Robb like a slap to the face. The older boy kept his eyes downcast and walked sullenly to his horse, his shoulders hunched under his cloak.

"Fine," Robb muttered to himself, swinging onto his own horse. "I'll find him myself." He kicked the sides of his mount, urging him forward. His horse dashed through the woods, making the Stark boy feel as if he was flying. "_Brandon_!" he shouted, his head whipping back and forth. "Brandon Stark!" Grey Wind raced alongside him, his red tongue hanging out of his mouth.

Faint voices made him stop for a moment. Robb held his breath and listened, trying to make out what they were saying. "_Think_ of what Mance would give us!" the woman's voice was hoarse and rasping. By the way her words were cut off at the end, he figured she was a wildling. _What are wildlings doing this far South? _He turned his horse around, the voices becoming clearer and more distinct with every step.

"Piss on Mance Rayder!" a gruff male voice answered. "And piss on the North!" Robb entered the clearing and felt his jaw drop to the floor. Brandon, who had been pulled off his horse, was surrounded by four wildlings. The boy's horse whickered and whinnied nervously next to them. In the leader's hand was a blade, which was held much too close to Bran for Robb's liking. "We're going as far South as South goes. There ain't no White Walkers down in Dorne."

The Lord of Winterfell composed himself and swung off of his mount. "Drop the knife," he commanded. Everyone whirled around to look at him, shock on all of their features, save Bran, who looked relieved. "Let him go and I'll let you live." Robb unsheathed his sword, his lips twisted into a snarl.

One of the wildlings dashed towards him, yelling a battle cry. He swung his axe at the young lord, once, twice, three times, but Robb dodged all the blows. The scraggly man lifted his axe to swing again, but it was lodged in the ground. Stark took the opportunity to slit the wilding's throat.

Bran tried to wrestle the knife out of the leader's hand, grunting and panting all the while. A sharp pain in his back made Robb focus on the battle instead of his little brother. The female wildling aimed to swing at him again, which Stark easily blocked. He wrenched the axe from her hands and threw it on the ground. He grabbed her hair, eliciting squeals of pain from her. He paid no heed, stabbing another man with his sword.

"_Robb_!" Brandon sounded like he was on the verge of tears. The young lord looked up and saw his brother being held tightly against the leader, a knife pressed against his throat.

"Shut up!" the leader sneered. "Drop the blade," he ordered Robb. The grip on his longsword only became tighter.

"No, don't!" Bran choked out, his blue eyes looking as if they would pop right out of their sockets. _Brandon, I already almost lost you once. I won't let it happen again. I __**won't**_ _lose you._

"_Do it_!" Ever so slowly, never tearing his gaze away from the older man, he bent down and set the sword on the ground. From next to him, the wildling girl whimpered with pain, his fingers still tangled in her knotted hair.

The leader let out a groan of pain as the tip of an arrow peeked out of his chest. He collapsed to the ground, releasing his grip on Bran and the knife as his life's blood drained out of him. Now that he was on the ground, Robb got a clear view of who shot it; Theon Greyjoy. He sauntered over to them and loaded another arrow, aiming at the girl.

The Lord of Winterfell threw her to the ground and dashed over to Brandon. "Are you alright?" He noticed a few cuts and gashed on his brother's arms and thighs.

"Yes," the boy assured him, his voice shaking. Robb helped him to his feet, but still kept an arm around his shoulders. "It doesn't hurt."

"Tough little lad," Greyjoy encouraged, a grin finding its way onto his face. His arrow was still pointed at the wildling. "In the Iron Isles, you're not a man until you've killed your first enemy. Well done."

Robb's eyes darted back and forth, taking in the bloody scene before him. "Have you lost your mind?" he demanded, coming to his senses. "What if you'd missed?"

"He would have killed you and cut Bran's throat-"

"You don't have the right-"

"To what, to save your brother's life?" His grip on the bow tightened. "It was the only thing to do so I did it." They stared at each other in silence.

"What about her?" Robb murmured finally. The wilding was breathing erratically, her hands trembling violently. Theon smirked and took a step towards her, the arrow still aimed at her forehead.

"Give me my life, milord," she pleaded, crawling towards the two Stark boys, "and I'm yours."

He watched her for a few moments. "We'll keep her alive," he decided. She cried out in joy and knelt in front of him. _Gods, how am I going to explain this to Elira?_

* * *

She was waiting for them at the gates, anxiously pacing back and forth. One hand was on her swollen stomach, and she was chewing on the thumbnail of the other one. It was a habit Robb had quickly discovered she had, but no matter how many times he tried to stop her, she continued to bite her nails. _"I swear, Elira, next time I'm going to force you to wear gloves all the time."_

Her eyes flickered up and met his when she heard the sound of horse hooves. She shook her head and let out a deep sigh, giving him a roll of her hazel eyes. "Robb, you still have duties to do. You can't take off the whole day-"

"We were attacked by wildings," he explained, swinging off his horse. She gaped at him, the shock evident on her face. "I didn't think they'd be this far South," he admitted, helping Bran off his horse.

"Gods," she breathed, protectively wrapping Brandon in her arms. "Are you alright?"

"Just a bit banged up is all," Theon answered. He glared at Robb, burning holes into his back as he brought his horse to the stables.

"We'll have to have some patrols in the Wolfswood," Robb mused, letting a servant take his horse. "If this group of wildlings came this far South, there'll surely be more to follow." He began to walk to the castle.

His wife nodded to the wildling girl following them. "Is she one of them?" Elira asked, falling into step with him. Grey Wind and Summer padded along beside them.

"My name is Osha, milady," she spoke up, nervously tugging on her long sleeves. Robb, Elira and Bran turned to look at her. She hunched her shoulders, seemingly shrinking. "If it please."

Elle nodded curtly and looked at her husband. "What are we to do with her?"

He shrugged. "Put her in the kitchens?" His wife nodded once more. "Mavis," he called. The boy was instantly at his side, awaiting commands. "Put her in chains and bring her to the kitchens. She's to be a scullion." Mavis bowed and took Osha by the arm and led her to the kitchens. "Bran, go to Maester Luwin. He'll see to your wounds." Brandon looked at his older brother in confusion, but did as he was told. "Any word from King's Landing?"

Elle shook her head. "None. Your father hasn't woken up yet." Her voice was filled with remorse. "Nothing about Sansa and Arya either. No doubt the queen is planning on taking them hostage." Robb muttered a string of curses under his breath. "Robb, stop. The baby will hear." She half-smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "They'll be home soon. Once Lord Eddard has woken up, he and your sisters will be on their way back to Winterfell."

"Theon spoke to me about war," he told her as they stepped into his study. "He said I should march on King's Landing…" He shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind of his friend's words. He sat down and ran his hand through his hair.

She sighed and sat down in his lap. "War is a _huge _decision, you know." She bit her lip, fumbling for words. "You know what happened during the last war. _Any _war, really." Elle rested her hands on her abdomen. "People die, Robb. They die at your command, without any second thoughts." She met his eyes and smiled a little. "You know if it comes to that, I'll stand behind you." She found his hand and interlaced her fingers with his.

"If it comes to that," he echoed, resting his chin on the top of her head, "may the gods give us the strength."


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Hello all! C:

The colds winds are rising in this chapter! Dun dun dun!

More author's note will be at the end, because I don't want to spoil this chapter!

Quick question before we begin: I was thinking of doing a Glee/Game of Thrones story. So basically modern!AU of Game of Thrones, with Glee aspects thrown into there. Of course, I'd have my OCs in there because they've really grown on me ahaha. The idea just randomly came to me...I've been rewatching Glee episodes, and Game of Thrones is always on the brain. Derp.

Let me know if you guys would be into that!

Thanks to The Lady Bard for the beta!

Thanks for reading/faving/subscribing and, of course, reviewing! Don't hesitate to drop one!

Enjoy!

* * *

**_Elira_**

She dipped the quill into the ink, humming softly to herself. Robb and Theon were discussing something about the accounts; she wasn't paying much attention to them. She had promised herself that she'd send Arya and Sansa a letter by nightfall. She tried to think of the last time she wrote to them; did they even _know _about her pregnancy? She couldn't even remember the last time they wrote to her. With a newfound determination, she pressed the quill to the paper.

_The baby should be here soon. You two should see your brother…he's as giddy as a little boy. We'll visit you as soon as we can. You'll be aunts soon. Can you believe it?_

_ We miss you so much…I'm sure Rickon and Bran do, too. They're just too scared to admit that they love their sisters. It's a boy thing. They'll grow out of it soon. _

_Be good. And write back! I miss hearing from you._

_Love,_

_Elira. _

Elle melted some wax onto the parchment paper and pressed the direwolf stamp into it. She set it aside and grabbed another piece of paper; she figured she should write to her family. A sigh escaped her lips; she hadn't seen them in what felt like a million years. She knew it was only a few months, but she missed them dearly. It felt strange to let such a big part of your life go like that.

Maester Luwin stepped into the dining hall before she had a chance to write the first word. Her hazel eyes flickered up, watching the old man as he walked towards her husband. Luwin handed the young lord a letter, a grave expression on his face.

"What's this?" Robb mused. She noticed the broken direwolf wax sigil on the paper. _Word from Lord Stark? Or the girls? _His blue eyes eagerly scanned the paper, his expression confused and disbelieving. He reread the letter several times, his frown deepening with every word.

"Love, what is it?" Elira questioned quietly, growing anxious. The babe kicked inside her, as restless as she was. She winced and put a hand on her stomach. She and Theon watched Robb expectantly, waiting for an answer.

"My father's been charged with treason," he answered, focused on the paper. "Sansa wrote this." He turned to Luwin, seeking advice and counsel.

"It is your sister's hand, but the queen's words," the maester replied wisely. Greyjoy craned his neck to see the letter. "You're being summoned to King's Landing to swear fealty to the new king." The words hit her hard. _That's right. King Robert's dead_. When they had gotten that raven, Elira had been in such a state of shock, she hadn't even thought of the new successor. _With that royal prick on the throne, not much good could come from it._

"Joffrey puts my father in chains and now he wants his arse kissed?" Robb surprised her with the sheer hatred in his voice. He was deathly quiet and serious; never had she seen him this angry about anything. It frightened her.

"This is a royal command, my lord," Luwin reminded him. "If you should refuse to obey-"

"I won't refuse." Her husband tightly clenched the letter tightly in his hands. "His Grace summons me to King's Landing, and I'll _go _to King's Landing." He rolled the paper up and stared emotionlessly at the floor, unblinking. He handed the letter to Luwin and met his eyes. "Call the banners." Theon looked satisfied with that, a wide smile on his face.

"All of them, my lord?" The Maester inquired softly, his wrinkled face a blank and distant mask. Elira felt her heart leap into her throat. She shot up and opened her mouth to speak, but was silenced by Robb's hand on her arm. _Robb, please. You can't leave. You'd miss the birth of the babe. You were so excited about it… _

"Not now," he mouthed to her. His face was hard but his eyes showed concern and regret. Tears burned in her eyes, which she tried to blink back. She assumed the role of the dutiful wife and sat back down. "They've all sworn to defend my father, have they not?" he said to the old man.

"They have," Luwin responded simply.

"Then we'll see what their words are worth." Robb's hand still rested on Elira's arm, applying slight pressure. The maester left the three, the hall dreadfully silent. The Lord of Winterfell took his seat once more, his mask sliding right off his face. He looked like the seventeen year old boy again, his eyes wide. Elle saw fear in them, an emotion she was almost certain he was incapable of feeling. _The lord must look strong for his people_.

Elira grabbed the letter she wrote for Arya and Sansa and quickly threw it into the hearth. _I'm so sorry, sweetlings. But this would only end up in the claws of the lion. _

Greyjoy must have noticed as well. "Are you afraid?"

Robb looked down and saw his hands shaking violently. Elira took them in hers, hoping to calm him. "I must be."

"Good," Theon concluded.

"Why is that good?"

"Means you're not stupid."

"Theon," the Lady of Winterfell said suddenly. "I wish to speak to my husband. _Alone_." The ward nodded and slunk out of the hall, muttering his courtesies. "Are you absolutely insane?" she demanded, cupping her husband's cheeks and forcing him to look at her. "Robb, they have your sisters. Do you know what they would do to them if-"

"They have my _father_, too, or have you forgotten?" he retorted. "I can't let them kill him. I _won't _let them-"

"And they won't. Not unless you declare war on them." She removed her hands from his face, as if he had burned her. "You have a babe on the way. Are you seriously planning on leaving your son to march south?"

"_They have my father_!" he repeated, almost yelling now. He slammed his fist on the table, making her jump. "You promised you would stand by me if it came to this," he protested, his voice cracking. "You said you would be there for me-" A sob escaped him before he had time to finish. All her anger dissipated, and she took him in her arms, running her fingers through his curly hair. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing," he whispered into her neck. She felt his tears against her skin. "I don't want to leave you. I want to see my child born, and I want to be _there _for her-"

"And you will." Elira leaned back and kissed his tears away. "I know you will." She didn't even realize that she, too, was crying. She pushed away all other thoughts. Right now, her husband needed her.

* * *

"My lady." A squire entered her chambers and bowed respectfully, though she did not miss the smile on his lips. Elle looked up from the book she was reading. She noticed the soaring owl of House Manston stitched onto his doublet. Excitement bubbled within her; _they're here_. "Your father wishes to see you." Grinning, she hopped off her chair and accepted the squire's arm.

The ravens had been sent two weeks ago and, slowly but surely, the lords of the North arrived. Winterfell was overflowing with Robb's bannermen. _Soon, they'll all be gone_, she thought sadly. Nevertheless, she would get to see her family before the war engulfed the Seven Kingdoms.

"You bloody liar!" the familiar voice taunted from behind her. She spun around, letting go of the squire's arm. The young boy scurried into the Great Hall, leaving her alone with her twin brother. He approached her, his steps slow and deliberate. "Told me you wouldn't get pregnant, but here you are, twice the size of when I saw you last." His signature smirk found its way onto his face.

"Oh, shut up." Elira laughed, wrapping him in a tight hug. "Gods, I never thought I'd miss you this much. How long has it been?"

Ryker shrugged. "Almost a year?" He slipped out of her embrace and held out his arm. She linked her arm through his, and they stepped into the Great Hall. "There's someone I want you to meet," he spoke almost shyly, which left Elle gawking.

"Well, don't leave me waiting," she ordered, finally composing herself. She figured it must be his wife, whom he had recently married. _Ryker, my sweet brother…are you in love? _Ryker must have been the last person who she thought would fall in love. _Then again, that Greyjoy doesn't seem like the romantic type. _

The lords and their men stood up the moment they laid their eyes on Elira. She inwardly cursed, loathing the attention. Outwardly, she smiled politely and gestured for them to take a seat. In the center of the room was her husband, Bran, Rickon, her father and uncle, along with several other high lords.

"This is Lady Arwyn Frey," Ryker introduced his wife, a proud smile on his face. Arwyn instantly stood up and motioned to curtsey, but he quickly stopped her. "She's your sister now. And she really doesn't care about courtesy-"

"I think that's enough talk from you." Elira chuckled, shoving his shoulder. "It's a pleasure, Arwyn. And I apologize in advance for any trouble my brother causes you." Arwyn smiled gratefully, her cheeks turning a light pink. "Please, sit down. You're our guest."

"My, you've grown up," Merek Manston breathed, awed and amazed. "Gods, if only your mother could see you-"

"Where _is_ Mother?" she asked, taking a few steps towards her father and uncle.

He smiled sadly and shrugged. "Someone has to help Olyver be Lord while I'm gone."

"How is everyone?" She sat on her father's knee like she used to when she was a child. "Mother, and Olyver, and Arabelle, and-"

"They're all fine," her uncle assured her, chuckling softly. "Arabelle had her babe a few months ago; little Marilda. Emont's ecstatic; you should see him."

"I wish I could," she said quietly, putting her hands on her stomach. Robb beckoned her to come sit by him. She sighed and got off her father's knee. "I'll see you later. The husband summons me." She smirked and kissed her father and uncle on the cheeks. Elle sat down next to Robb, who was listening to the Greatjon's boasts.

"For thirty years, I've been making corpses out of men, boy!" Jon shouted. Next to Elira, Robb rolled his eyes. _Never call him 'boy', Greatjon. _"_I'm _the man you want leading the vanguard."

"Galbart Glover will lead the van," her husband told him, annoyance evident in his voice.

"The bloody Wall will _melt _before an Umber crouches behind a Glover! _I _will lead the van." _Arguing with Robb is pointless and stupid. Can't you see that? _Robb held his head in his hands and let out a deep sigh. "Or I will take my men and march them home." Ryker let out a low whistle at Jon's declaration. _Bad move_.

Robb's blue eyes blazed, glaring daggers at the Lord of Last Hearth. "You are welcome to do so, Lord Umber." Slowly, he pushed his chair away from the table and stood up, looking down on the Greatjon. "And when I am done with the Lannisters, I will march back North, root you out of your keep, and hang you for an oath breaker." Astonished murmurs went around the table. _Poor Arwyn. First night with my family, and already there's death threats_.

"Oath breaker, is it?" Greatjon roared, slapping his food away and shooting up out of his chair. The guests at their table stood up, ready to defend Robb, should it come to that. The rest of the guests throughout the hall watched the exchange from their seats. "I will not sit here and swallow insult from a boy so green he pisses grass!" He unsheathed his longsword, but was quickly knocked down by Grey Wind. Umber screamed with pain as the direwolf ripped off two of his fingers. Grey Wind trotted back to Robb as if nothing had happened and lay at his feet.

"My lord father taught me it was death to bear steel against your liege lord," Robb said, almost casually. "Doubtless, the Greatjon only meant to cut my meat for me." Elira would have laughed, had the situation not been so serious. Ryker covered his mouth with his hand, muffling a chortle.

"Your meat," Umber began, nursing the two bloody stumps on his hand, "is bloody tough." His booming laughter echoed in the hall and was soon joined by those of the other guests. Elira couldn't help but think of Stannis Baratheon and his right hand man, Ser Davos Seaworth. _Cut off a few fingers and they'll be the most loyal to your cause_.

* * *

Late at night, after the feast, Elira and Robb went back to their chambers, not uttering a word to each other. He was leaving, and there was nothing she could to do stop it. _Will I ever see you again, my love? Will you ever see our child? _Tears stung her eyes. She wiped them away fiercely; _you have to be strong for him._

He sat next to her on the bed, his expression unreadable. He looked down at his boots, unwilling to meet her gaze. He took her hands in his own shaking ones and brought them to his lips. "I'm so sorry, my love," he said in a broken whisper.

"Robb, please, don't," she begged, burying her face in the crook of his neck. "Just shut up. You're making it harder on the both of us." Her body wracked with sobs. The façade she had worked to hard to keep slipped away. Now, she was only a wife, only a mother. _Only a girl_.

A knock at the door made them both look up. "My lord, may I have a word with you?" Ryker's muffled voice asked nervously.

Clearing his throat, Robb detangled himself from the embrace. "Of course." He composed himself, once again becoming the Lord of Winterfell. "Come in." Elira's twin opened the door and slipped inside, closing it behind him. Elle and Robb watched Ryker expectantly, waiting for him to speak.

The Manston boy knelt in the middle of the room, keeping his head down. "My lord, if you would grant me leave, I would ride to the Wall and bring Jon Snow back where he belongs. By your side."

Robb's cheek twitched. "I'm afraid he's already taken his vows-"

"Give me a hundred men and we can trade," Ryker continued, grim determination on his face. "Young men who were forced to go to war. The Night's Watch is a great honor; surely the boys would accept this." He licked his lips and raised his head, his hazel eyes sparkling. "The Watch is undermanned as it is. How could Lord Commander Mormont refuse this offer?"

Stark eyed him with slight suspicion. "And why are you so dead set on retrieving _my _brother?" Elira couldn't help but agree with her husband; where the hell had Ryker gotten _this _idea?

"He is my brother now, too, by law," Elira's twin shot back, his voice taking on an icy tone. "Family is very important to me, and no doubt, you too. Surely you'd want your brother riding into battle with you." He sighed, his expression softening. "I know I do. But, someone has to watch over Temes."

"Have you spoken to anyone else about this?" Robb questioned, the tension in his shoulders easing away. Ryker shook his head, his long hair tossing from side to side. "I need you in battle, Ryker. You're one of the best swords I have-"

"And I'll _be _back. Give me two weeks, my lord, that's all I need to go get him-"

Elira shot up off the bed. "_I _will go get Jon Snow." The two stared at her as if she had three heads. "Ryker, Robb obviously needs you on the battlefield. And clearly, I won't do any good being caged in Winterfell," She crossed her arms over her chest, looking defiant. "I wish to be of _some _use,"

"What about the baby?" Robb countered.

She shrugged. "I'll give birth at Castle Black, if it comes to that,"

Her husband rubbed his index fingers against his temples and closed his eyes. "Are you absolutely sure about this?" She eagerly nodded her head.

"Elira, I don't think this is such a good idea…" Ryker murmured, pushing himself off the ground. "What if you get hurt-"

"I won't," she cut him off. Her mind was made up; there was no way of changing it. "My decision has been made. I'll go get Jon." She pursed her lips and sat back down next to Robb. "I'll leave on the morrow."

* * *

I'm back!

I know you're gonna hate me for splitting them up, especially with the baby on the way, but hey, Jon's coming!

Which means that there WAS a reason for that poll a couple weeks ago...ehehe ;)

More AU twists coming up! Woot!

Thanks again! :D


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Sorry for the delay! Holy crapcakes that was really really REALLY long. omg. I'm so sorry you guys.

I know this one's kind of short, but I've been having writer's block for a little while...BUT I can guarantee that the next one will be a treat. A couple of our old friends will be returning...along with some new ones...ehehe. AND I can guarantee more frequent updates.

Next chapter should be up sometime this weekend. Woot woot!

If you're in to Glee, go and check out my story, A Song of Glee and Show Choir! It's really just a fun project, and it won't be updated THAT often, but it'd still be amazeballs if you'd check it out C:

I think that's about it...right?

As always, thanks to everyone who reads/subscribes/faves and OF COURSE, reviews!

Speaking of those, don't hesitate to drop one ;)

Enjoy!

* * *

**_Robb_**

"The River lords are falling back, with Jaime Lannister at their heels," he declared, slamming his fists on the table. "And Lord Tywin is bringing round a second Lannister army from the South. Our scouts confirm it's even larger than the Kingslayer's." He looked around the table, meeting each set of steely eyes of the members of his war council. Robb found it hard to look at Ryker, who reminded him so much of Elira, and gods damn it, two weeks apart and he painfully missed her already. And her father and uncle, who looked nothing like her, yet still shared the same look of determination and confidence.

"One army or two- the Kings in the North threw back hosts ten times as large!" Greatjon assured him, his voice booming. Suddenly, he shot up, and was quickly followed by the others. Robb turned around and saw none other than his mother walk into the tent.

"Mother!" Robb exclaimed, a smile finding its way onto his face. Ser Rodrik joined them, his face unreadable. Catelyn stared at him for a few moments, her mouth opening and closing, trying to find words.

"You look well," she said finally, adopting a relieved expression.

"Lady Catelyn!" Jon Umber called, beaming. "You're a welcome sight in these troubled times."

"We had thought not to meet you here, milady," Theon admitted, his face serious, such a contrast to his usual, humored and smirking self. Ever since they left for the South, everyone had changed so much. There was never any mirth on Theon's face, and even Ryker, who always had a joke or a jest, was grim both day and night.

"I had not thought to _be _here," Cat responded, her brow furrowed. Her blue eyes were watery as she took in the sights around her. No doubt seeing her son go off to war was a huge shock, and it would take some getting used to. **_You_**_ still have to get used to it, Stark._

"I would speak with my son alone," she declared, her voice still soft. "I know you will forgive me, my lords."

"You heard her; move your asses!" Greatjon shouted. "Come on, out!" He pushed the other lords out of the way. Ryker whined quietly and muttered something under his breath, but still followed orders. "You, too, Greyjoy, are you bloody deaf?" Despite his commands, Jon Umber himself did not leave the tent. "Have no fear, my lady. We'll shove our swords up Tywin Lannister's bumhole. And then it's off to the Red Keep to free Ned!" Jon Umber patted Rodrik on the back, and the two exited the tent, shooting jests back and forth and one another.

Once the lords were gone, Robb and Catelyn finally shed their stoic masks. They collapsed into each others' arms, unbelievably grateful to be together once more. They stayed like that for several moments, happy to see each other again.

Cat was the first to pull away from the embrace, but still keeping her hands on his shoulders. She cupped Robb's cheek, a small smile on her lips. "I remember the day you come into this world, red faced and squealing," she kept her voice low, and was obviously holding back tears. Robb felt his heart ache; he couldn't help but think as if he'd put her through some pain by making the decision to march South. "And now, I find you leading a host to war."

"There was no one else," he protested lamely.

"_No one_? Who were those men I saw here?"

He clenched his jaw firmly. "None of them are Starks."

"All of them are seasoned in battle! Lord Merek and Ser Esmour are related to you by marriage now-"

"If you think you can send me back to Winterfell-"

Cat shook her head, making him trail off. "Would that I could."

The Stark boy released her and walked over to the table. "There was a letter," he pulled out the scroll from one of the binded leather books, "from Sansa." He handed the parchment paper to his mother.

"From the _queen_, you mean," Catelyn retorted, her blue eyes scanning the letter. She sat down, her expression becoming more distressed with every word read. "There's no mention of Arya!"

"No," he agreed, his lips set into a thin, grim line.

"How many men do you have?" she asked, her voice taking on a tone of desperation.

Robb sat down next to his mother and ran his fingers through his hair. "Eighteen thousand." He clenched and unclenched his fists, a sudden fury burning inside him. "If I go to King's Landing and bend my knee to Joffrey-"

"You'd never be allowed to leave, no," Cat finished his sentence for him, her eyes wide. "Our best hope- our _only _hope- is that you can defeat them in the field."

He quirked up an eyebrow, silently challenging her. "And if I lose?"

Her face hardened, her blue eyes scrutinizing him. "Do you know what happened to the Targaryen children when the Mad King fell?"

"They were butchered in their sleep." He instantly thought of Elira and their unborn babe. _I'll keep you safe, my love. I won't let those filthy lions touch you. I promise. _

"On the orders of Tywin Lannister. And the years have not made him kinder." He didn't doubt that one bit. He had heard far too many stories and tales of Lord Tywin to think of him any differently than a power-hungry, blood-seeking lion, trapped in a man's body.

Cat stared at him, unblinking, with those bright eyes of hers. "If you lose…your father dies. Your sisters die. _We _die."

A hint of a smile found its way onto his lips. "Well that makes it simple, then."

She sighed deeply, trying with every fibre of her being to not cry. "I suppose it does." She looked around her in amazement, as if she was now in a completely different location. "Where is Elira? Is she staying in Winterfell?"

Robb swallowed the lump in his throat and gave a tiny shake of his head. _I wish she was. Gods, how I wish. _"She went up North. To the Wall."

Catelyn raised her eyebrows in shock. "What in the world is she doing there?"

He kept his eyes downcast, focusing on his heavy leather boots. "Ryker wanted to go get Jon, but she offered to go instead." He spared a glance at his mother, who was glaring daggers at him. Robb knew that she had no love whatsoever for his half-brother, and only tolerated him for the sake of Eddard and the children. He opened his mouth and tried to argue with her. "Mother, he is my brother-"

"He is a Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch," Cat snapped, raising her voice. "He belongs at the Wall now. He is under Lord Commander Mormont's order now. You can't touch him." Her words stung him like a slap to the face. He winced and tried to formulate a response. _Mother, he is my brother. Accept that fact. Nothing you say will change that_.

"We were raised together," he managed to croak out. "We both have the Stark blood. He is my best friend and my _brother_, no matter how much you detest that fact."

She eyed him dubiously. "How will you get the Lord Commander to let him go?"

"Elira brought a hundred young boys with her to trade. They had not wished to fight in this war, so they agreed to go." He licked his dry lips, ignoring the glares sent his way. He cleared his throat and made fists with both of his hands. "My brother should be at my side when we ride out into battle." He boldly met her eyes, both pairs ablaze. _I am Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell while my father is gone. I can make my own decisions. I __**will**__ make my own decisions._

Robb stood up before she had the chance to respond. "Elira will be here within the fortnight with Jon." He took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders. "As of right now, Jon Snow is my heir. As Lord of Winterfell, I will legitimize him the moment he arrives."

"Robb, are you out of your mind?" Catelyn demanded. Her anger seemed to dissipate, being replaced by pure stupor. "Do you remember what happened during the Blackfyre Rebellion?"

"Jon is _one _person," he protested. "And even though you won't admit it, you know he is a good man. He would _never _do anything like that." He paused and attempted to calm himself down. "Mother, this could be a good thing. We can make a marriage agreement that can end the war."

She sighed once more and rubbed her temples with her forefingers. "You and I both know that a marriage cannot quell the rage and will of men."


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Another chapter already? Yes, children! About half of this chapter has actually been collecting dust on my desktop. So I finally got the chance to finish it!

The next chapter will bring back our little lion from my other story...just telling you in case you guys missed her :3

Enlighten me with your predictions for where this story is headed. I'd love to see what you guys think.

Thanks to everyone who reads/subscribes/faves and, of course, reviews! (which would be greatly appreciated)

Enjoy!

* * *

**_Elira_**

She slowed down her horse as her and her party approached the gates of Castle Black. For a moment, she marveled at the monstrosity in front of her- the oldest and greatest structure in all of Westeros. In the _world_, perhaps. _The Wall_.

"My lady?" A squire, Matthew, brought her back to reality. Her husband had appointed him to be her personal guard, much to her dismay. _I'm not a child, Robb_. "Shall the rest of us wait here?" He looked at her expectantly, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword. No doubt he had only gotten it a few weeks ago, when Robb called him and all the others to war. _Don't get cocky now, kid._

She looked back over her shoulder at the hundred men- boys, really- she had brought with her. "I think it would be best if I go alone." Matthew nodded sharply and yelled to the others to set up camp. She held her head high, her face a blank mask. It was what she was accustomed to ever since she became Lady of Winterfell, now more than ever.

The wind nipped at her cheeks from under the hood of her cloak. A light snow began to fall as her mount brought her through the courtyard. _Snow walking me through Castle Black just as snow begins to fall, and we are to get Jon Snow...how fitting._

The recruits stopped their sparring and gaped at her. _Poor lads probably haven't seen a woman in ages._ Of course, while donning a tunic and breeches, with her hair tied back under her hood and a sword at her hip, she didn't look very womanly at all. Apart from the swollen belly, she could have passed as one of the recruits.

An older man approached her, a scowl on his worn face. "The Wall is no place for women," he sneered, looking her up and down. "Especially none as pretty as you. I can't promise that the lads won't try something with you." The knight walked over to one of the boys and stared him down. "After all, you lads are nothing more than just a bunch of thieves, rapers and bastards." _Poor Jon_, she thought to herself. _I don't see how he was able to deal with this git._

"Enough," Elle swung off her horse and met the man's gaze. "I demand to be spoken to with more respect." She straightened her back and stood her ground.

His frown deepened. "And who are you to tell me what to do?"

She threw off her hood, her hazel eyes blazing. "Lady Elira Manston, of Temes. My husband is Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell and I carry his son inside me. Now, I _demand_ to be spoken to with more respect, or my husband will know the reason why." Awed murmurs echoed throughout the courtyard.

"A thousand pardons, my lady," the man reluctantly apologized, his scowl ever present. In another life, she would have let her smugness show on her face, and perhaps even make a snarky remark. But no. Not here, not anymore.

Instead, Elle nodded curtly and pursed her lips. "I wish to speak to Lord Commander Mormont, on my lord husband's behalf."

Grudgingly, the knight waved one of the lads forward. "Peter, show Lady Stark to the Lord Commander's chambers." The boy approached them, his head down.

He bowed to Elira, a light blush on his cheeks. "My lady," Peter mumbled. "If you would follow me." She offered him a small smile and fell into step with the young boy.

Excitement bubbled up within her, although she didn't let it show. She was about to see Jon Snow after what seemed like a million years. She didn't know whether she would cry, or laugh, or yell at him for leaving her. _I guess we'll find out shortly._

Elle and Peter stopped in front of a large wooden door. "We're here, my lady," he announced.

"Thank you." She smiled before knocking on the door. The lad muttered his courtesies, and then scurried off.

"Come in," Jeor Mormont's gruff voice answered a few moments later. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door, silently praying that everything would work out the way it was planned.

"My lord." Elira curtsied, perfected by years of practice. The door quietly shut behind her, making her feel like a mouse caught in a trap. _This is it. No turning back now._

"And to whom do I owe the honor?" the Old Bear asked, although she had a hunch he already knew the answer.

"Lady Elira Manston." She hesitated for a moment. "Now Stark."

"Ah, yes." He nodded his head. "The boy spoke of you." She raised her eyes and saw Jon, pouring the Lord Commander's wine. He caught her gaze and smiled, his features a mix of curiosity and confusion.

"I can only hope he has spoken well of me." She shot the dark-haired boy a stern look.

"Yes, of course," Mormont assured her, taking a sip of his wine. "Please, my lady, sit down/" She curtsied once more and took a seat across from the old man. "Now, what brings you here?"

She waved away Jon, who was about to pour her wine. She casually rested her hands on her stomach as a silent reminder. "My husband's war, as a matter of fact." Jon visibly bristled at that, his grey eyes locking with hers. Elle gave a tiny shake of her head. _Not now_.

"The Night's Watch cannot spare any men. We're short on them as it is," Jeor replied simply, steepling his fingers together.

"Actually, it's not about that." Her teeth grazed her bottom lip. "Not entirely, anyway." Mormont raised a questioning eyebrow. "I've brought a hundred men with me. All are willing to join the Watch." She caught a spark of interest in his eyes. "Once the fighting is over, my husband will grant you and the Brothers more recruits- prisoners of war."

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "In exchange for what, my lady?"

"Your steward," Elira responded, slightly tilting her head to the side.

"Why would Lord Robb offer hundreds of men for _one boy_?"

"He thinks very highly of the Watch, as do the rest of his bannermen. Sending hundreds of men to their deaths is a waste. The Night's Watch is an honor they should be so lucky to have." She had rehearsed this conversation over and over in her head during her journey. She only wished that she felt as confident as she sounded.

"Jon Snow is Robb's brother. I'd think that you of all people would know how important a friendly face is when riding into battle." She shrugged. "Plus, I'm sure another direwolf would come in handy." Jeor then did something completely unexpected: he laughed. A genuine, hearty laugh.

He sobered moments later and leaned back in his chair. "Jon has already taken his vows, my lady."

"I know. Why do you think we're offering so many men, my lord?"

"He's _one boy_," Jeor repeated.

"He is my husband's brother." Elira resisted the urge to roll her eyes; she respected him greatly, that was certain, yet his stubbornness annoyed her to no end. "Does the Night's Watch not swear to protect the Realm?"

"Not by the orders of a lord or a king-"

"Are _you _not a lord? Do they not take orders from _you_?" Jon darted out his foot and kicked her in the shin, warning her that she'd gone too far. She ignored him and continued. "The Night's Watch swears to protect the Realm. You and I both know this war will affect everyone from Highgarden to Last Hearth. Who else to call on but the ones who _swore an oath _to protect the Realm?

"Please, my lord. My husband sent me here to get Jon; he'd be most upset if I didn't return with his brother." Her words were not threatening or unkind, but a plea. She told Robb that she'd bring back Jon, and dammit, that's what she would do. She had come too far for anything else.

Mormont sighed deeply and rested his hands in his lap. "The Watch desperately needs the men Lord Robb offers. I find it hard to refuse his offer." He paused and looked back and forth from Elira to Jon. "However, I don't think the choice is up to me." He stared pointedly at the Stark bastard.

Jon cleared his throat and set the pitcher of ale on the desk. "My lord, if you would grant me leave, I would accompany Lady Stark South." Hesitantly, he looked up and met Jeor's steely gaze.

"Very well. You two may leave whenever you see it fit," the Old Bear conceded. "My lady, I'm sure you're exhausted after your journey. Jon, would you show Lady Stark to her chambers?" Snow nodded and helped Elira out of her seat.

"I thank you for your time, my lord." Elle curtsied once more. She linked her arm through Jon's, and together, they walked to her temporary quarters.

Once inside, she shed her façade and collapsed into his arms. Through her tears, she scolded him and shouted incoherent insults and profanities. He hissed when she clutched tighter onto his arm, and only then did she realize the bandages peeking out from under his gloves.

"Jon Snow, what the hell happened to you?" she gasped, slowly peeling off his glove. The putrid stench of blood and pus hit her hard. She bit her lip to keep from gagging.

"I think you should sit down before I tell you," he muttered, gesturing to the bed. Slowly, she walked over and sat down, both hands on her swollen stomach. He swallowed visibly and sat down next to her. "It was a White Walker. A White Walker did this to me." Her eyes widened in shock and she found it difficult to breathe. _Walkers? They've been gone for thousands of years…surely they're gone for good…right?_

"Are you sure?" Elira managed to croak.

"He almost killed me, Elira," Jon gritted out. "Of course I'm sure." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, resting her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair.

"For what?"

He gave a tiny shrug. "For leaving you, and Robb, and the others." She smacked his good arm in response. He let out a quiet chuckle and slipped out of their embrace. "Mormont probably wants to see me. Plus, you need the rest." As if on cue, she let out a big yawn. Snow smiled and kissed her forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow."


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Hey all! :D

Sorry for the delay...I really wanted to upload this on the weekend, but I ended up procrastinating, like usual, OOPS.

But here it is!

Our little lioness has returned! Along with a couple new characters...ehehe. You'll see what I'm talking about when you read it.

Predictions from you guys would be AWESOME to hear. Who knows...you might end up changing the story!

Thanks for reading/faving/subscribing and OF COURSE reviewing!

Enjoy!

* * *

**_Lyra_**

She entered his room in the ungodly hours of the early morn. She wasn't surprised to find him awake. He was attempting to change his bandages, his brow furrowed in concentration. She sighed; there was nothing more that she wanted than to be curled up in bed, under her furs, but this couldn't wait. She had to talk to him. _Now._

"Let me do it," Lyra grumbled, taking a seat next to him on the bed. He didn't seem shocked that she was there; in fact, it seemed like he expected her.

"I can do it on my own," Jon protested, his bottom lip jutted out into a pout. She let out a quiet chuckle; he looked and sounded like nothing more than a small child.

Lannister ignored his whining and proceeded to wrap the fresh bandages around his hand. The wounds were healing, that was certain, although it still wasn't a very pleasant sight to see. And, obviously, it still hurt him. She tried to ignore his hisses of pain, and found herself muttering apologies, which he blatantly ignored.

Once the new bandages were on, they sat next to each other in silence. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jon flexing his hand, a frown on his face. Lyra sighed and fell back onto the bed, at a loss for words.

"Go ahead," Snow murmured, pulling and tugging at the furs. "Yell at me if you want. It's what you came here for, isn't it?"

She shook her head as best as she could whilst lying down. "So the rumours are true, then? You're leaving?"

He nodded and lay next to her. "It would seem that way."

"The others sent me to convince you not to go." Her lips tugged upward in a half-smile. Truth be told, she had _offered_ to go; she wanted to clear the air between them before he left.

Jon exhaled deeply. "I appreciate the concern, although it's not exactly my decision to make." She caught a hint of remorse in his dark eyes.

"Isn't it?" Lyra argued, shooting up so she could look down on him. She reached out and ran her fingers through his wild curls as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "You can say no. You can stay here…with us. With me." She knew that his mind was made up; there was no way of changing it. Yet somehow, she found it hard to accept that fact.

She would never see him again, she realized. After everything they've been through, he would abandon her. He'd go fight his brother's war, and she'd be left here with to freeze her arse off for the rest of her life. Tears burned at the back of her eyes; _no, stupid, don't cry. Don't you dare cry. You'll have the others; Pyp and Grenn and Sam. You don't need Jon. Just like he doesn't need you_.

"I have to go with her." Jon's cheek twitched, his hand finding hers. "I'm so sorry, Lyra. But there's nothing I can do." She bit her lip and nodded, avoiding his gaze.

The door creaked open, and Lyra quickly rolled away from Snow, ending up on the other side of the bed. Lady Elira Manston, now Stark, waltzed in, a small smile playing on her lips. She was as beautiful as the tales and rumors said; long hair, bright eyes, a more than comely face…Lyra felt a stab of jealousy. Jon was obviously close with her; what if he had feelings for her? _You idiot, she's his half-sister now. _

"Am I interrupting anything, Jon?" Lady Stark asked, obviously amused. _Why is she smiling like- oh. __**Oh**__. No, no, no, no. She can't know. She just __**can't**__._

"Not at all, Elira." He pushed himself up, now sitting on the edge of the bed. "What brings you here at this hour?" He tried to act casual, but Lyra could see how red his ears and neck had become.

Elira ignored his question. She feigned innocence, parting her rosy lips, darting her widened hazel eyes back and forth between them. "Since when does the Watch allow women to join?"

"My lady, I don't know what you're talking about," Lyra blurted out, perhaps a little too quickly, her entire body flushing a light pink. _Shitshitshitshitshit_. This was Lady Elira Manston she was talking to; she could ask her lord husband to return her to her family, or, what would be much easier, have her executed.

Elira rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. "Do you think I'm as stupid as the rest of them? I know what a girl looks like. It's not that hard to tell, considering I _am _one." She stared Jon down, her jaw clenched, but kept speaking to the Lannister girl. "Tell me your name, and your story, girl. I might decide against informing my husband about this."

Lannister swallowed thickly, her face contorted into a grimace. "M-my name's Lyra," she trailed off, looking helplessly at Jon.

"Do you have a last name?" Lady Stark inquired, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Elira-" Jon warned, but Lyra shut him up with a smack to the shoulder. He shot her an accusing look, but she ignored it, turning once more to Elira.

"Lannister," she answered the question confidently, boldly meeting the Lady of Winterfell's cold eyes. "Lyra Lannister. I'm sure you've heard the name before, my lady. Perhaps in the report of my supposedly untimely death." She felt Jon elbow her sharply in the ribs, but she paid no heed.

Elira remained speechless for several moments, her mouth opening and closing many times with no sound coming out. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. "My husband is at war with them," she stated in a surprisingly calm and steady voice. "They tried to kill his brother. An innocent child."

"She's not like the others," Jon interjected. "Besides, what harm is she doing to anyone while she's here? She swore to protect the Realm." Lyra's throat felt uncomfortably dry, and she was unable to utter a single word. Why the hell had he done that for her? _Don't be nice to me now. It will only hurt more when you leave_.

"She swore to protect the Realm under a false identity," Elira retorted. "That doesn't make them valid. She can be killed for that." _Stop talking as if I'm not here_.

"I won't let you kill her." His voice was deathly quiet, sending shivers down Lannister's spine. She absolutely hated seeing this side of him. _Well, at least I won't see this when he's gone_.

The Lady of Winterfell crossed her arms over her chest. "We'll see what Robb has to say." Her gaze locked on Lyra, burning holes into her forehead.

Jon scowled. "You can't possibly mean you're-"

"We shall speak no more of this matter tonight," Elira concluded, her tone as sharp as Valyrian steel.

Snow took in a sharp intake of breath. "As you wish, my lady." Robb Stark's wife recoiled as if she'd gotten slapped by the bastard.

One moment, she was every bit of a noble lady as she was taught to be, and the next, the Manston girl was gasping for air, tears streaming down her face. Lyra and Jon watched on in silence, helpless and clueless to what was happening.

"The baby!" Elira managed to choke out, her hands firmly planted on her sides. "The baby's coming!" She let out another sob, darting out one hand to grip the dresser and steady herself.

"I'll go get Sam," Jon declared. He scooped Elira in his arms and gently set her down on the bed. "Lyra, stay here and watch over her." Wordlessly, the Lannister girl nodded and watched Jon sprint out of the room.

"I-it's going to be alright," Lyra said in a lame attempt to reassure her. "Just…just hang in there. Stay strong." Elira could only scream in pain. The Southerner let out a yelp when Robb's wife grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly.

Jon returned a few minutes later with a panting and red-faced Samwell Tarly in tow. "It's about time!" Lyra spat, her face contorted into a grimace. If Elira didn't stop squeezing her hand soon, she was certain she wouldn't have any more use for it.

"W-what do I do?" Samwell squeaked, taking uncertain steps towards the bed. "I only read about it; I never _delivered _a baby before!"

"Just get the babe out of there!" Lady Stark commanded, her voice bordering on hysteria. Tarly nodded sharply, his forehead breaking out into a sweat.

Jon sat down next to Lyra, and the two tried to calm Elira down. Orders flew out of Sam's mouth, and he seemed to have relaxed a bit, as if he'd delivered hundreds of babes before. Curses escaped the Lannister's lips as Lady Stark's grip continuously tightened on her hand.

"Sorry about your sheets, by the way," Lyra deadpanned, brushing damp hair away from Elira's forehead. Jon shook his head, laughing silently.

"My lady, you're doing fine," Sam informed them a couple hours into labor. "A few more pushes, and the babe should be out."

"You're doing great, my lady," Lyra echoed, gently squeezing her hand.

"Robb," Elira breathed out, her voice raw and hoarse from the screaming. "I should be with him." She sucked in a deep breath, letting out a quiet sob.

"You'll be with him soon," Jon said, leaning in and kissing her forehead. "You're almost there, don't worry."

"I see a head!" Sam cried. "Push, my lady!" Elira's fingernails dug into Lyra's palm, but the Lannister girl had lost feeling in her hand long ago. And besides, Lyra herself was excited now; she had always loved babies. _And_, she thought dryly, _the sooner this shrieking will end, the better._

Sam handed the baby to Jon. "It's a boy," Snow murmured, showing him to the two girls. The babe was squealing and squirming in his arms. Lyra reached over and grabbed a towel from Jon's nightstand, and helped Jon wrap the babe in it.

"Ned," Elira whispered, smiling when Ned took her finger in his tiny hand. Suddenly, she screamed once more, her nails drawing blood from Lyra's palm.

"There's another!" Tarly announced. "My lady, you're having twins!"

"Twins?" Elira and Jon blurted out, both dumbfounded. Ned writhed in Jon's arms, as if trying to reach out to his sibling. _Your twin's almost here, don't worry...gods, I'm never having children_.

"Just push!" Sam and Lyra screeched in unison. Ned's squeals quickly turned into cries and sobs, almost as if he were echoing his mother. Lannister's ears pounded painfully. _Is this what going deaf feels like? _A loud scream from Elira made her grimace. _No, no, not going deaf at all. Sadly._

_Maybe living out my life with only grown men won't be such a bad thing_.

The second babe came out moments later, just as red-faced as the first. Jon passed Ned to Lyra, who let go of Elira's hand and took the tiny bundle in her arms. Jon cleaned and wiped off the other babe with another towel from the nightstand. "It's a girl," he murmured, gently handing the babe to her mother.

"Lyanna," Elira said, cradling the girl to her chest. Sam helped the Lady of Winterfell sit up, murmuring about how happy he was he'd taken his vows and how he'd never have to see a woman again. Lyra smiled ruefully and stared at the baby boy in her arms. He looked just like his mother, but with his father's coloring. _He'll be a heartbreaker, this one_.

She felt Jon's eyes on her. Slowly, almost shyly, she looked up and met his gaze, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. She was taken aback by how intense his gaze was, his grey eyes clouded with-

_No, you're being stupid. That's impossible. He can't. Stop fantasizing._

Her lips curled upwards in a small smile, her cheeks flaming. Her heart leaped into her throat and she found it hard to breathe. _I want this for us, Jon. I want you to hold our babies, and marry me, and-_

Lyra gave Ned to Elira, ending the silent moment she was sharing with Snow. When had she turned into a moon-eyed, love struck little _girl_? _He's leaving. He's leaving and that's it. Suck it up, because you're never going to see him again_.

Lyra excused herself and offered congratulations to the Lady of Winterfell. She dashed across the courtyard to Hardin's Tower and locked herself in her room. She sunk to the ground and cried. Cried for Jonah, for all the men going off to war, and the ones who wouldn't come back. She cried for Jon, and the fact that she'd never see him again.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

Short update to check up on Robby. Negotiations oooh. Dealing with the Freys is never good.

Should have another update by this weekend. The events should start to speed up pretty quickly within the next couple chapters.

Thanks for reading/faving/subscribing and of course reviewing!

Mwah! Enjoy!

* * *

**_Robb_**

The fact that he hadn't heard from Elira in the two weeks they'd been apart worried him greatly. He expected at least a raven to tell him how the negotiations went. Seven hells, or to at least tell him she got there _safely_ and was _fine_. He wasn't even sure if she was alright, and he barely knew any of the lads he sent with her. He considered sending a letter, but it wouldn't do much good if she-

_Fuck, Robb, don't think like that_.

A new wave of panic washed over him, and he wrung his hands together nervously under the table.

_Fuck, what about the babe? Fuckfuckfuckfuck-_

Ryker gently nudged him in the ribs, bringing his chair a bit closer to his. He obviously wasn't paying attention to the Greatjon or any of the others. But then again, when did Ryker ever do as he was told? "Robb, your mother's on her way. It will be fine." Robb gritted his teeth and gave a miniscule nod. _Not what I was worrying about, but thank you so very much for that reminder_.

Robb knew that the Freys would ask much of him, and he was rather scared for that. He just wanted to get his father and sisters back, without having to worry about the debts to pay once the war was over. He'd heard more bad things about the Freys than good, so making a deal with them was not something he wished for.

_Elira will be home soon. It's going to be alright. She'll come home, and you'll have your baby, and you'll get Father and Sansa and Arya._

He almost laughed. Home? He was going insane. Since when had the Kingsroad and the battlefield become his home?

All the men sprung up out of their seats when Lady Catelyn and Ser Rodrik entered the tent. Everyone had a look of anxiousness on their faces, and, in Theon's case, nausea. Robb knew it was only because Ryker had teased him earlier about being forced to marry one of the Frey girls. Theon had punched him in the gut and yelled that _he _was married to one, if he didn't recall. But Robb and his good-brother hadn't missed the nervous look on the Greyjoy's face.

"Well?" Robb pressed, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. "What did he say?"

His mother took a deep breath. "Lord Walder has granted your crossing. His men are yours, as well, less the four hundred he will keep here to hold the Crossing against any who would pursue you." The men relaxed visibly, and Robb allowed himself a small smile.

"There's a catch," Ryker warned, grinding his teeth. Robb never thought he'd see the day where Ryker was the only serious one. "I know how the Freys are. Gods be good, I love my Arwyn, but her family always demands their tolls to be paid. And quite heavily, I'm afraid."

"He's right," Robb agreed, straightening his back. "What does Lord Walder want in return?"

"You will be taking on his son, Olyvar, as your personal squire. He expects a knighthood, in good time."

"Fine, fine," Robb grumbled. _He expects too much, so it would seem. _He saw that his mother was hesitating. "And?" Whatever she was going to say couldn't be good.

"And Arya will marry his son, Waldron, when they both come of age." There was a hint of a humorless and forced smile on her face. He heard Ryker let out a little snort from next to him.

"She won't be too happy about that." _She'll be furious, more like. Sorry for the terrible 'welcome home' present. _Cat locked eyes with him, and he knew that there was something more. Something that was obviously hard on her, and hard for her to say. "And?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

Her cheek twitched, and she tore her gaze away from him. "When the fighting is done, and after Jon has been legitimized, he is to marry one of Lord Frey's daughters. There are a number he finds…_suitable_." He knew she would yell at him later; she was obviously trying to keep her anger in check. Cat was still not too pleased about Robb decided to legitimize his brother. _So be it. I have to make my own decisions now._

Theon and Ryker shared a look, both biting their lips to hold in their laughter. "The two Starks who loathe the prospect of marriage the most," the Manston boy muttered under his breath, the corners of his lips twitching in amusement.

Either Catelyn didn't hear him, or she chose to ignore him. "Do you consent?"

"It's not exactly my place to consent or not." Robb frowned. Why was he reduced to bargaining off his siblings? _Gods, if Father hears about this…_

"Consent, or you won't be able to cross," Cat said simply.

"Then I consent," Robb declared. He pushed past the other men in the hall, suddenly feeling stifled and suffocated. He rushed to his private chambers, his head spinning.

_Elira, gods, why can't you be here? You always know what to do…_

He grabbed a sheet of parchment paper from his desk and dipped a quill in the jar of ink. He wasn't even sure what the hell he was supposed to say. He just needed his wife to be here, by his side. Where she was meant to be.

_Elira,_

_I need you. I just bargained off Jon and Arya for a stupid bridge…gods, you're going to hate me for that. I have no idea what I'm doing here…twenty thousand men and I don't know what our next move should be._

_I just…I miss you. That's all._

_I love you,_

_Robb._

Sighing, he ran his fingers through his hair. He sealed the letter with wax, then pressed in the direwolf stamp. He went to give the letter to whoever was keeping the ravens; everything was a blur to him. He didn't remember who he saw or who was there. Elira had taken up every thought in his head, and he was in a daze as he made his way back to his tent.

He could only pray that she'd gotten there safely, and that she wouldn't take his head off when she returned.


	21. Chapter Twenty

Another update woot! I wrote this in the span of a couple hours, so it's kind of short. But quality, not quantity, right?

Things should really start to unravel and speed up, probably starting with next chapter.

As always, thanks for reading/faving/subscribing aaaaand reviewing!

Until next time!

Enjoy!

* * *

**_Elira_**

She put the last of her things in her trunk and closed it with a deep sigh. On the bed, Ned and Lyanna squirmed and made gurgling sounds to one another. Elira smiled tiredly and kissed each of their foreheads. They were only a week old, and they were already going to have to travel. She felt terrible for making the tiny babes travel, but she couldn't stay here a moment longer.

She'd gotten Robb's letter a couple days ago, and had cried herself to sleep that night. They were worlds apart; she almost regretted going to the Wall. Gods, he hadn't even been there for the birth of their babes! _He's fighting a war. He's going to miss a lot more than that._

A quiet knock at the door tore her away from her thoughts. Ned began to cry at the sudden noise. Sighing, Elira picked him up and gently rocked him back and forth in her arms. His pudgy fingers played with the ends of her hair, tugging insistently. "It's open," she threw over her shoulder. Ned continued to cry, reaching for her chest.

"My lady." Lyra curtsied, closing the door behind her.

"Good morning." Elira nodded to the girl. She bared her breast for the babe, who sucked eagerly. Lyanna, the quieter of the two, was still lying on the bed, her eyelids drooping closed.

"My lady, I have a...request, of some sorts," Lyra said nervously, wringing her hands together.

"Go ahead," Elira pressed. She had come to like the Lannister girl; she had helped her out with the twins throughout the week she'd been here, and she was always good for a laugh.

"I wish to accompany you and Jon South," Lyra declared, dropping to her knees. She bowed her head in respect, her hands clenching at her sides. "I would swear to protect you at all costs, fight for you in battles, and at any time else, should it come to that."

Ned finished, and Elira adjusted his position to let his head rest on her shoulder. "Does this have anything to do with your feelings for my good-brother?" She didn't tell Lyra about Jon's alleged betrothal to the Frey girl; hell, she didn't even tell Jon yet. She still had a hard time wrapping her own head around it.

"I suppose that's a part of it," Lyra admitted. Elira appreciated her honesty; they'd gotten off on the wrong foot, but Lyra was still incredibly loyal and protective over her and her babes.

"I should quite like to hear the other reasons," Elle told her, putting Ned back on the bed next to his sister. She tied up her gown and smoothed out all the wrinkles in it. "And please, you may get up. I consider you a friend now. No need for courtesies."

"Of course, my lady," Lyra mumbled, pushing herself back to her feet. She cleared her throat and kept her eyes downcast. "I know the Lannisters better than any of your husband's bannermen. I would offer my..._insight_, if you will."

"You'll have to gain my husband's trust," Elle warned. "It won't be an easy feat." She knew he'd give her hell for bringing back a Lannister, but she would just use Jon and Arya's betrothals against him. She loved Robb, but he was too naïve sometimes.

"I'm aware of that," Lyra replied, not unkindly. "It's a risk I'm willing to take."

"You love my good-brother, don't you?" Elira smiled, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Lyra's cheek twitched. "I suppose I do." She gnawed on her bottom lip. "He was my first friend here. He helped me through everything."

Elle carded her fingers through the furs on the bed. "Have you spoken to the Lord Commander about this? Leaving, I mean."

"I have, my lady. He said he would lose a great ranger, but he would not stop me from leaving."

Elira stood up, squaring her shoulders. "Lyra Lannister, I would name you my sworn shield."

Lyra went down to her knees once more. "It is an honor I am not worthy of, my lady."

"If you weren't worthy, I would not think to give you this honor," Elira countered smoothly, a small smile playing on her lips. "Pack your things and meet us in the courtyard at noon. We shall begin our journey South today."

* * *

Elira, Jon and Lyra rode out of the courtyard, with Ghost padding along beside them, leaving Castle Black behind for good. Ned and Lyanna gurgled questioningly as they bounced in the sling Elle had around her body. Thankfully, it wasn't snowing, and it wasn't terribly cold, either. She knew that their journey would be prolonged because of the babes, with their frequent stops and whatnot.

Matthew, her squire, rode up to the three, his eyes widening with every step his horse took. "My lady, have the negotiations went as planned?" His eyes darted back and forth from Lyra to the babes.

"That they have," Elle responded, her patience with him wearing thin. _If they hadn't, would you see Jon and I together? _"Tell the lads to pack their things. They are to move into Castle Black now. Lord Commander Mormont is waiting."

"Y-yes, my lady. Of course, my lady," Matthew babbled. He turned his horse around and shouted commands to the hundred boys. _Enjoying giving orders, hmm? Poor sap. You'll soon learn your place_. She reminded herself to be more stern with the squire.

"Have you sent Lord Robb a raven to tell him that we're on our way?" Matthew asked once he took his place next to Elira.

She ground her teeth together and took a deep breath. "I would, but I know not where he is. He and his men move more and more south each day." She spurred her horse to move a bit faster, not wanting to talk to the squire any longer.

"R-right. My mistake, my lady." His cheeks flushed a dark red. _Robb, we're going to have a talk about Matthew when we see each other again_.

Jon rode up next to Elle, a smirk on his face. "You could try to be nicer to him, you know." He nodded subtly to Matthew, who was several paces back, chatting to a very annoyed Lyra.

"I think I'm entitled to dislike someone." She pursed her lips, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

"Seeing as you're Lady of Winterfell, I'm inclined to agree with you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I've learned to respect and obey my superiors." He laughed.

"Shut up!"

"As my lady commands." He stuck his tongue out at her, a teasing glint in his dark eyes.

"Where did you get that sword?" she asked, changing the topic. The pommel was a carved direwolf, white with red gems for eyes.

"Lord Commander Mormont gave it to me." The amusement was gone from his voice. "For saving his life. It's been in his family for generations. Longclaw, the Mormonts call it."

She nodded sharply, swallowing thickly. "I'm proud of you, Jon." He only nodded.

* * *

Lyra spurred her horse forward, joining Elira at the front of the small group. "Have you gone deaf yet?" Elle teased, slowing down to allow the Lannister girl to catch up. "He's been chatting your ear off for the past three hours. I can hear him all the way from here."

"Jon offered to take over squire duty for awhile," Lyra spat, visibly seething. "Why'd you pick _him_?"

Elira sighed. "Believe me, I didn't choose him. Robb made him come with me. Said I needed 'protection' or some bullocks reason like that." Her lips twisted into a frown. "I suppose it was sweet of him. And Matthew has good intentions. He's just a young lad; most are like that."

"And that's the reason why I hate most young lads," Lyra shot back. "Too much energy and excitement. Cocky, too."

"So that's why you like grown men," Elira joked, nodding towards Jon. She always made fun of his constant proclamations of him being 'a man grown'. _Jon Snow, the fact that you have to do that means you're just another lad_. "He was always quiet. Even with his family. Even with _me_," _And we're supposed to be best friends_.

"I like that he's quiet," Lyra murmured. "It's…relaxing. Refreshing, I guess. You never see that solemn attitude with boys like him." She shifted in the saddle. "I like spending time with him."

Elira laughed, and the babes attempted to imitate the noise from their place in the sling. "Lyra Lannister, you're in love."


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

Is it just me or am I getting these updates out faster? I doubt it, but whatever! It makes me feel better so I shall continue to think like that :P

There's a Jon/OC twoshot I uploaded, if you guys want to read it! It's called Broken Vows and Whispered Promises. And no, the OC isn't Lyra ahaha. Sorry hons.

As always, thanks for reading/faving/subscribing and most especially reviewing! (which it wouldn't hurt if you did ;3)

Enjoy! Mwah!

* * *

**_Lyra_**

They arrived at Winterfell a few days later, and she almost cried in relief. Between the twins' wailing and Matthew's constant blabbering, she wasn't sure if she'd be able to make it another day. And she still hadn't gotten another pair of gloves- _thanks for that, Tyrion. _Jon had been kind enough to lend them to her, but she saw his fingers slowly turning blue, so she gave them back. _Damn you, Jon Snow. You're making me soft_.

Lord Bran Stark and his younger brother, Rickon, waited for them in the courtyard, along with some of the household. Lyra hung back, bringing the horses to the stables. She was a lion amongst wolves; she didn't belong here. This was the wolves' den…she was trapped in their jaws. A Lannister wouldn't be welcome here.

She was ushered to her room, a servant trailing behind her and carrying her bags. He dropped them off in her temporary quarters, and left without another word. The entire castle seemed to be silent, and she thought back to the caves in Casterly Rock. Her and her brothers would sneak away from the feasts and go down to visit the lions. It would always be deathly quiet, and she had expected to die at any given moment. _Am I to die now? Without warning, in the wolves' den?_

Elira sauntered into Lyra's room a few hours later, humming tunelessly. She looked lovely, in a dark green woolen gown. Her hair was done up extravagantly, with pins, small jewels and pearls. Wordlessly, she sat Lyra down at the vanity and began to comb through her hair.

Lannister winced as Lady Stark worked through the knots and tangles. Her hair was now halfway down her neck, and the original blonde was starting to show. "My lady, this isn't necessary-"

"We're having a feast," Elira stated, setting the brush on the vanity counter. "You're invited, of course. I thought you might want to…" She shrugged, picking up a dress lying on the bed that Lyra hadn't even noticed was there. "I thought you'd look pretty in this one." Elle held the dress against her to show her; long, dark red, with lace for sleeves. "It used to be mine, but…I doubt it would fit after giving birth."

"My lady, really, you don't have to." Lyra gnawed on her lip, staring at the dress. It _was_ beautiful..._hell, when was the last time I wore a dress?_

"I insist." Manston grabbed Lyra's hand and pulled her to her feet. "You'll look beautiful in it. I know you will." She smirked, a teasing glint in her hazel eyes. "I bet Jon will like you in it." Lyra blushed fiercely and kept her eyes down.

Elira helped her into the dress, and Lannister couldn't help but feel extremely odd and uncomfortable. She had never liked wearing dresses, but after spending months in only men's clothing, she felt like she was in someone else's body. She insisted on keeping her boots, instead of the slippers Elle had wanted her to wear.

"You look lovely," Elira gushed, herding her towards the full length mirror. Lyra's breath caught in her throat when she saw her reflection; she didn't see her at all, but instead, her cousin Cersei. The red fabric was darker than the ones the queen normally wore, but the green eyes, full lips and sharp cheekbones was all Cersei. _A less pretty version, of course_, she thought bitterly.

"I haven't worn one in so long," Lannister muttered, turning and looking at herself from different angles.

"It's just for tonight, don't worry," Elira assured her. "We'll be leaving tomorrow, and I won't stop you from wearing your tunics and breeches." She did Lyra's hair, putting in pins and plaits here and there.

"My lady Lyra! The feast is beginning shortly," Matthew's voice called, muffled by the door. _I am not your lady, boy._

Elira looked at Lyra expectantly. "Shall we?" Lannister nodded sharply, taking one last look in the mirror. _This is for you, Snow._ Elle linked her arm through Lyra's and the two girls walked out together.

Matthew stared at Lyra in shock for several moments, his jaw dropping. His blue eyes were so wide, she thought they'd pop out of his sockets. "Close your mouth, lad- you'll catch flies." She grinned at him and continued to skip to the hall with Elira.

Jon was already sitting at the table, next to Rickon. The seat on his other side was vacant, and she took it as her cue to sit next to him. Elle kissed her cheek, then took her seat in between Maester Luwin and Lord Brandon.

"Good evening, my lord," Lyra mimicked his accent, carefully stepping over the bench. _Why do you stupid dresses have to get caught in everything all the time?_

Jon gaped at her, staring her up and down. She blushed, not used to the attention- especially not from a man as handsome as him. "You don't...look like you," he blurted out.

She laughed loudly, covering her mouth when she remembered where she was. _Play the part for Elira...she did everything for you. You owe her._ "Is that a good thing?" She took a sip of her wine, watching him over the rim. He shrugged and mumbled something she didn't quite catch.

During the evening, she sat back in silence with a small grin on her face as Jon bantered with his siblings. He would make a good father, she knew. _What a lucky girl she'll be..._ She sighed and moved her food around with her fork. _Can't I just have that one thing in life? Him?_

"What's wrong?" Snow murmured in her ear, concern in his grey eyes.

She shook her head. "Nothing. I promise." She reached under the table and squeezed his hand.

"My lady, I don't think we've had the pleasure of meeting," a husky- though obviously feminine- voice drawled. Lyra looked up and met the eyes of a scullion- a wilding, judging by her wild hair and drab garb. _You Northerners__** are**__ wild...letting wildings stay inside your walls._

"I'm not a lady," Lannister replied slowly, trying to put on a pleasant tone.

"By the looks of you, I think you are," the wildling countered matter-of-factly. She poured Lyra some more wine, then took a seat next to Rickon.

"Osha, she's our guest," Elira told her mildly.

"A noble one," Osha declared. She turned back to Lyra and scrutinized her. "You sound too..._learned_, to not be noble."

"I was one, a time ago." Lannister clenched her jaw tightly. "It's Lyra Hill now." _Only way I'll be accepted by the wolves._

"As you will, my lady." Osha bowed her head. She gently picked up a sleepy Rickon and went to bring him to his chambers.

"Why on earth would you want to be a bastard?" Jon demanded in a hushed tone.

"I was never like the others. I was never a lion," she muttered back, draining her glass in one shot. _It's all anyone sees me as, anyhow. Might as well accept it._

* * *

The evening came and went, and soon, it was well into the early hours of the morn. Lyra wanted to be on the road as early as possible, and she knew she should at least get a couple hours of rest. She thanked the Starks for the lovely feast and excused herself. She picked up her skirts and made her way out of the hall, trying not to trip over the fabrics.

"Lyra," Jon called, catching up with her. "May I walk you to your room?" He held out his arm, obviously trying to keep his gaze on her face and not on...Lyra tried not to think about that. _A pretty dress is all it takes to get them to fall at your feet..._

"I may be a lady, but I don't need your bloody courtesies." She hooked her arm through his and held her head high. _I'm still the same girl as I was before_. She hoped that he didn't see her any differently, though Jon was not a typical man. He wouldn't let a silly dress change his mind...would he?

"How do you like Winterfell?" he asked conversationally, his steps slow.

"I don't know, I've been cooped up in the Great Hall for the past five hours with a little lordling," she retorted, beaming. He laughed and shook his head, his curly locks flying everywhere. "You should get a trim," she mused, reaching over and carding her fingers through his hair.

"Never again. I had to get one when your family came, and Elira wouldn't let me hear the end of it."

"So it's true, then? You've never met a girl you like better than your own hair?" She giggled, returning her arm to her side.

He shrugged, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. "There might be one." A light blush crept onto his cheeks, and she found herself at a loss for words. _Does Jon Snow-?_

"We should come back here," she changed the subject, biting her lip. "When everything's...over, I mean. We could go riding in the Wolfswood, and visit Winter Town...I mean, you've already been there. But I want to..." she cut herself off when she realized she was rambling. "Like we talked about. Remember that?"

"At the Wall. I remember," he said as they arrived at her chambers. He stepped away from her, his hand slipping out of hers. She instantly felt cold; for someone named Snow, he was always incredibly warm.

"Are you..?" Lyra hesitated, opening her door. She hoped he would understand what she meant. She was too shy to say the words aloud, contrary to her usual self.

Jon shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I don't think..." He shrugged a shoulder.

Her cheek twitched. "You don't want to. I understand. It's fine."

"No, no, it's not that," he quickly responded, putting a hand on her arm. "It's just that...you're a Lady here. No matter what you say. And I'm just a bastard."

"You're Lord Robb's brother," she countered, taking a step towards him. "Does that not make you a Lord, as well?" She knew he couldn't argue that fact.

He sighed deeply. "It's not like that. I...you wouldn't understand."

"Believe me, I understand," she murmured, taking another small step, so their noses touched. "I've been an outsider my whole life. My sewing needle was always the sword." She pecked him on the lips, resting her hands on his shoulders. "I don't care that you're a bastard. None of that matters to me."

"It matters to me." Jon cupped her cheek, his stormy grey eyes boring into hers. "You deserve someone of importance. Who has something to offer you."

"What, you want me to marry an old fat man with a small prick?" Lannister cackled. Snow just bit his lip to keep in his laughter.

"You know you always ruin a serious moment?"

"Serious things are so boring!"

He smiled, his expression softening. She knew that look was only for her, and her knees just about gave way. He had a certain effect on her, and frankly, it frightened her.

He kissed her this time, his hands on the small of her back. He pulled away a few moments later, still smiling- she always loved the crinkles by his eyes when he smiled. "I'll see you in the morn."

"Parting is such sweet sorrow." She sighed dramatically, putting her hand on her forehead.

Jon pressed his lips to her hair, then let her go. "Goodnight, my love."


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two

Hi! :D

Kind of a short update for you all! More AUness, since I made Theon get injured at the Battle of Whispering Wood, but without that, this chapter wouldn't happen! :P

So another OC is introduced! Theon just needs some love, okay. It's going to take time though!

Thanks for reading/subscribing/faving and OF COURSE, reviewing!

Mwah! Enjoy!

* * *

**_Theon_**

He didn't even see the spear coming. Usually, he was cautious and aware of his surroundings, but he had been so distracted by the direwolf in front of him, he hadn't even paid any attention to the soldiers around him. He had seen Grey Wind hunting many times, but this was completely different. It wasn't stags or deer he was killing; no, he was ripping apart _people_. Both young and old men alike, no one could survive the wrath of the direwolf.

They won the battle. Theon thanked the Drowned God that he'd gotten his injury close to the end of the fight. He knew that if he'd gotten shot earlier on, he would be ten feet under with all the other soldiers they lost that day.

He groaned in pain as he moved into a sitting position. The spear in his thigh was still there, the tip soaked in blood. The redness seeped through his woolen trousers, and he felt lightheaded when he saw it dripping onto the grass. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a shaky, uneasy breath. He ripped off part of his tunic and shoved the material in his mouth, biting hard. He wrapped a fist around the spear and sucked in a deep breath through his nose. _One, two-_

"If you even_ think_ so much as doing that by yourself, you are absolutely insane." His eyes flashed open, the grey-green orbs darting frantically from side to side. A young woman kneeled in front of him, who he assumed was one of the few nurses going around.

He spat out the cloth. "So what do you want me to do?"

"First of all, keep that in there," she instructed, shoving the cloth back into his mouth. "You're gonna need it." Her lips twisted as she studied him. "You might want to lie down."

Feeling inferior to the confident girl, he obliged. _Gods, Greyjoy, you've been in the Greenlands for too long...taking orders from a woman. _

"Alright, I'm going to count to three. Just take a deep breath and try not to look." Greyjoy nodded his head and shut his eyes tightly. "One-" Her dainty fingers wrapped around the spear. "Two-" she said slowly, her fingers turning purple from the tight grip. "_Three_." She gave one hard jerk and wrenched it free from his thigh. Theon bit onto the cloth and held back a scream, tears stinging at the back of his eyes. "There, that's all," she assured him, tossing the spear to the side. "It's done."

Hesitantly, he opened his eyes and looked at his thigh. Blood was rhythmically pulsating out of the wound, making his vision go blurry. "T-thank you," he spluttered as she helped him into a sitting position.

"It's my job." She smiled. He watched her as she dug into her basket; she had long, red hair, as dark as rubies. Her eyes were a bright blue, ever alert. A gray blotch on her neck and shoulders peeked out from the curtain of hair; Theon assumed she had greyscale.

"I don't like it when people stare," she warned him, her voice taking on a dark tone. "Just because my skin looks like this doesn't make me any less of a person than you." She pulled out a large jar filled with a green, gelatinous substance.

Theon swallowed his snarky reply when he saw the look of pain and anger wash over her features. "P-pardons," he stammered instead. The girl lifted her eyes and met his gaze, her jaw clenched tightly. He furrowed his brow and scrutinized her; he knew her...didn't he? Wasn't she the young girl he had left on Pyke, the red-haired spitfire with the strange skin? Wasn't she his first kiss, his first crush, his first _friend_? He had called her crazy back then, whenever she spoke about her strange dreams. But now...nothing made sense anymore.

"Gisella?" he blurted out, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.

She stared at him for a few moments, narrowing her eyes and studying him. "Theon?" she breathed, realization dawning on her features. "Gods, you've changed." She shook her head in amazement and screwed the cover off the jar.

"So have you," he leered, nodding to her obviously feminine curves and ample bosom.

She threw the cloth at his face, not amused. "Just because you're Lord Robb's right hand man does not mean you can stare at me like I'm a piece of meat."

"You forgot heir to the Iron Islands." He grinned proudly, dodging the balled up cloth. "And don't worry- I stare at my meat very differently." He laughed.

"Good. I doubt your meat would like it if you stuck your cock in it."

"Does that mean I get to stick my cock in you?"

"Nice try, Greyjoy." Gisella rolled her blue eyes. She began unlace his breeches, to give her easier access to the wound and apply the medication.

"Yet here you are, undressing me as if your life depended on it." His smirk widened. He silently thanked the Drowned God that he was wearing smallclothes that day.

"_My_ life doesn't, but _yours_ does," she retorted, tugging his breeches off his hips to pool at his knees. She stuck her fingers into the jar and spread the ointment onto the wound.

"_Fuck_!" Theon all but screamed.

"Stop being such a child," she muttered, digging some bandages out of her basket.

"I doubt children use that kind of language," he said matter-of-factly.

"Looks like the children are smarter than you, then." She allowed herself a small, triumphant smile. Her small hands wrapped the bandages around his thigh with utmost care and gentleness. The ointment stung, but Greyjoy made sure to bite his tongue. Don't want to upset the lady, he thought bitterly.

"Are you done?" he gritted out, his hands clawing at the grass.

"Excuse me for trying to do a good job," she snapped, screwing the lid back onto the jar. She slipped it back into her basket, along with the extra bandages. "Put your breeches back on, Greyjoy. I can feel your cock against my hip." He flushed and quickly pulled his breeches back up, lacing them with fumbling fingers.

Gisella helped him stand up, murmuring reassurances into his ear. Theon picked his belt back up from the ground and tied it around his waist, the longsword knocking against his knees. He took a few steps to test the waters, wincing as a sharp pain shot up his leg.

"You might want to take off your armor. Taking off extra weight could help your leg," she suggested, crossing her arms over her chest. He shrugged and did as she told him, letting the breastplate and shoulder pads fall to the ground. He took a few more steps, much easier this time, just like Gisella had told him.

Theon turned around in time to see her pick up her things. "Where are you going?" he asked, scooping his armor off the ground. _Fuck, where have all the horses gone? _

"You're not the only injured one, you know," she explained, sticking her tongue out at him from over her shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" He hobbled over to her, still on the lookout for a spare or lost horse trotting around.

"I left the Iron Islands," she replied simply, not waiting for him to catch up. He scowled, cursing under his breath when she sped up. "Well, more like they kicked me out."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Gisella ignored him and stuck her fingers in her mouth, whistling loudly. His eyes just about popped out of his head when a mare trotted into sight. It was a small thing, but Theon would have cried with joy, had the red-haired girl not been watching him.

"I'll be around the camp, so just return her to me when you see me." Gisella hoisted his armor onto the back of the mare when Greyjoy had finally caught up with her. "You need her more than I do right now."

He snorted, not willing to admit defeat. "I am perfectly capable _walking _back to the camp-"

"Your leg's trembling." She smiled softly. He grumbled under his breath and let her help him onto the horse.

"How will you get back?"

"I'll walk, of course."

"That's not fair, then."

She laughed and shook her head, walking away from him and throwing his previous words back in his face. "I am perfectly capable of _walking_ back to camp, Lord Greyjoy."


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three

Hey! :D

Super quick side note that doesn't have anything to do with this story, but I saw The Hobbit and it was bloody amazing. So go and see it. You seriously won't regret it.

Now, back to this!

Sorry for the delay; exams are coming up and I've been studying and panicking like mad. The next update should come after exams, so later this week. It will also most likely be shorter than the other chapters, since that's how it ended up with my planning.

Thanks to everyone who reads/faves/subscribes and, bien oui, reviews! Which would be appreciated...ehehe.

Enjoy, preciouses!

* * *

**_Elira_**

She cried when she saw the camp at the bottom of the hill, clamping her hand over her mouth. Every step brought her closer to Robb- she couldn't even recall the last time she saw him. _Was it at Winterfell? That long ago?_ She clutched the reins tighter, remembering his declaration of war on the Lannisters. _He was only a boy then. He's a man grown now. A lord. A soldier._

"My lady?" Matthew asked quietly from beside her. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she sniffled, wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeve. "I'm happy." She smiled, looking ahead with watery eyes. _Miss me, husband?_ Ned and Lyanna grinned toothily up at her from their places in the sling, cooing and gurgling as they played with her long hair.

Elira kicked the sides of her horse with booted feet, urging Snow quickly down the hill. She slowed down when she reached the edge of the camp, and from behind her, she could hear that Jon, Lyra and Matthew had done the same. Taking a deep breath, she held her head high. She put on her mask that she hadn't used in an unbelievably long time; her façade of the Lady of Winterfell.

Men fell to their knees and bowed their heads when she walked by, murmuring greetings, congratulations and condolences. _Condolences? For what? For my return?_ She knew that coming to the camp wasn't the safest idea, especially with the young babes. No doubt Robb would attempt to send her back to Winterfell.

Matthew helped her off her horse, the young lad careful with every movement. He was always careful around the babes, as if he thought he would break them. _Better than being rough around them, I suppose._

Jon and Lyra swung down from their horses and joined her and the squire. "I will go find my husband. Feel free to get some rest, or explore the camp," Elira told them, ignoring all the stares from the soldiers. _Yes, your Lady is back. Stop gaping; she was bound to return soon enough. _

"Shouldn't we present ourselves to Lord Stark, my lady?" Lyra questioned, slinking deeper into the hood of her cloak. _A lion within the army of a wolf. At least she's not stupid; she should be scared._

"We have plenty of time for that," Elle dismissed her. Lyra and Matthew began to walk off, but Elira grabbed Jon before he could leave. "Stay close to her, and don't let her talk too much," she ordered firmly.

"I won't let her out of my sight," her good-brother agreed, smiling when Lyanna wrapped her tiny hand around his finger. _Gods, he wants this with Lyra, doesn't he? Damned Freys..._

The two parted ways, and Elira searched for her husband's tent. Men directed her this way and that, and she found herself lost in the maze of tents. Finally, a young knight took her arm and led her to Lord Stark's tent.

She paused outside, her teeth digging into her bottom lip until she tasted blood. She didn't hear any talking, so she figured he was alone, or not there at all. She poked her head through the flaps of the tent and saw him, perched over a table, reading maps and battle plans. He was barefoot, with loose breeches, and no tunic. She frowned- he had visibly lost weight. _Robb, do I even have to remind you to __**eat**__ now?_

She took a couple more steps forward, the leaves crunching under her boots. She licked her lips nervously and tried to think of what to say; she hadn't seen him in a month. And with all that had happened recently, they couldn't simply get back into the swing of things. Nothing would be the same.

"Just because I was pregnant doesn't mean I ate for you, too, you know," Elle teased, letting Ned and Lyanna reach up and play with her hair. Robb whipped his head around in shock, causing her to laugh loudly. The babes mimicked the sound, high and childlike in her ears.

"You're back," Robb breathed, staring at her in awe. "And, _gods_, with a _baby_-"

"_Babies_, actually," she corrected, smiling fondly at him. "They're twins. Ned and Lyanna. I thought the names suited them."

"_Gods_," he whispered, shaking his head in amazement. He made his way over to her in two strides of his long legs, cupping her cheeks and kissing her passionately. She felt tears prick at the back of her eyes, and had to pinch herself to remind her that she wasn't dreaming.

"Careful," she murmured when her husband attempted to bring her closer. She stepped back and took Lyanna out of the sling, gently placing her in Stark's arms. The babe looked up at her father with blue eyes just like his, filled with wonder and awe. "She looks just like you."

"She's beautiful." Robb grinned widely when Lyanna reached up and took a tiny fistful of his beard in her hand. Elira thought that his face would split in half from grinning so much. He looked like a young lad again, not the soldier who had so much on his shoulders. She thought back to Winterfell, when they were first married. He had been nought but a boy of sixteen back then, with no cares or worries.

"And here's your son." Elira held Ned in her arms for Robb to see. Her cheeks hurt from all the smiling, and she thought that the crinkles by her eyes would become a permanent feature. Ned was snoring softly, his lips parted in sleep. "He has your eyes, too," Elle told her husband, letting him take the babe from her.

"But I like your eyes." Stark pouted, adjusting the two babes in his arms. His eyes sparkled with glee and mirth as he drank in the sight of the twins. _Gods, we should have had babies awhile ago, if I get to see him like this…_

"We'll have plenty of opportunities to get a babe with my eyes." She smiled coyly, a light blush tinting her cheeks. After being apart for so long, she almost felt as if she couldn't talk about things like that with him anymore. _You aren't the same young lad and lass as you were in Winterfell…_

Elira sat on the edge of the cot, wringing her hands. _What am I supposed to say to him? We're practically strangers now. _"I stopped by Winterfell on my way back," she said finally, watching as Robb sat next to her.

"How are Bran and Rickon?" he asked, his voice taking on a nervous edge.

"They're fine, don't worry," she assured him, playing with the small tufts of hair on Lyanna's head. "I don't really know why I brought it up."

Robb's cheek twitched. "You should have stayed there. With the babes. It's not safe for you here-"

"You're not sending me back," she snapped, a bit more harshly than intended. She shrunk into her cloak, her eyes downcast. She lowered her voice. "My place is by your side, Robb. I'm not leaving you."

"I never thought I would convince you to actually go back," he admitted. Elira took a sleeping Ned from his arms and kissed the babe on the forehead. She gently put him on the cot, his fists subconsciously punching the air.

"Robb, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, love."

Elle cleared her throat and ran her fingers through the dark tufts of hair on Ned's head. "The men were…less than happy to see me, I think." She pursed her lips. "They offered condolences as I walked by." She shook her head slightly. She tore her gaze away from the baby boy and met Robb's stare. "What happened when I was gone?"

His skin turned as white as the falling snow outside, his jaw clenched tightly. All amusement vanished from his face. He laid Lyanna on the bed next to her brother. The little girl protested and whined for her father's embrace, kicking her small booted feet.

"Tell me, please," Elle whispered. She reached out and took Robb's hand in hers, stroking his wrist with her thumb. _I may have left, but I'm still your wife._

He brought their intertwined hands to his face and kissed her knuckles. She cupped his cheek, and he leaned into her touch, squeezing his eyes shut. "Those bastards killed him," his voice was barely audible, muffled against her hand, although she doubted he made an effort to be heard in the first place. "They killed my father. I couldn't do anything about it. They killed him." His shoulders shook with silent sobs. _Please, don't cry. Robb, gods, that's the one thing I hate most in this world- seeing you cry-, you know that? _"I don't know what to do anymore. He's the whole reason I marched South in the first place-"

"And you're going to keep marching," Elira commanded, putting her hand under his chin and forcing him to look at her. "You've come too far to turn back. We're going to march down to King's Landing at kill them all. Every last one of them. You hear me, Robb Stark?" Mutely, he nodded, his glazed and watery eyes searching hers.

"I love you," he whispered, kissing the palm of her hand. The raw pain in his voice made her lose her resolve completely. She buried her face into the crook of his neck and clutched onto his shoulders. She wished she could have spent more time with her good-father, who she had admired so much. She couldn't even imagine how Robb must feel. _Gods, my love, I'm so sorry…_

Robb kissed her temple and nudged her chin up to look at him. "At the battle, we…we lost someone else."

Elle sniffled and blinked rapidly in an attempt to stop the tears. "Who was it?" Her husband leaned in and kissed her tears away. His lips lingered on her cheeks for a few moments longer than usual. She shied away from him and pulled his hands away from her face. "Robb, please, just tell me."

He swallowed thickly, gnawing and chewing on his bottom lip, a habit she knew was only present when he was nervous. "Your uncle Esmour was slain by Jaime Lannister."

Her fists clenched and unclenched at her sides, her face and neck flushing red with anger. "Where's that golden haired bastard now?" she demanded, on the brink of hysteria. The one man she owed the most to was gone now. He was more than her uncle; he was her mentor, her advisor, her _friend_. He couldn't be gone. _I'll kill every last one of them, Uncle. Do you hear me? For you and for Eddard and for all the other soldiers we lost. _

"We captured him. He's a prisoner of war."

Her lips twitched. "His pretty golden head should be buried ten feet under by now."

Robb nodded and traced the veins on her wrist with his thumb. "Aye, and the all the rest of the Lannisters."


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four

Hey! So I lied. This update it kind of long. Longer than I expected it to be. OOPS.

Aaaand, since I highly doubt I'll get another update out by tomorrow, Merry Christmas to everyone! Or, Happy Hanukkah, albeit belated. And Kwanzaa! In short, Happy Holidays!

I think that's about it! So, as always, thanks for reading/subscribing/faving and most especially reviewing! Which would be lovely, by the way :3

Enjoy!

* * *

**_Lyra_**

She had been left alone at supper that night; Elira sat on the makeshift dais next to her husband, who was chatting amicably with his half-brother. Even Matthew had left her- with good reason, of course- to guard little Ned and Lyanna, sleeping in their parents' tent.

Jon had been ushered to the high seat, earning him a glare from Lady Catelyn. Her dislike towards Jon was not unknown, even to a newcomer such as Lyra. It amazed her how the kindest person she knew could still be the victim of such pure, unadulterated loathing. _Lady Catelyn will change her mind...once Jon helps Robb win the war, she'll see that he's not some baseborn scum._

On the dais was also Theon Greyjoy, the Starks' ward and Robb's closest friend. Ryker, Elira's twin, sat next to the Ironborn, with his wife, Arwyn Frey, and Lord Merek Manston, on her other side. Her eyes swooped over them, feeling a pang in her stomach as she watched them laugh and jest with each other. A part of her wished she could be up there and join in on the amusement, but another part of her knew that she would only ruin everything and makes things awkward. _Life is hard when you're a Lannister_, she thought dryly.

No one made any move to talk to her, nor did Lyra try to initiate a conversation with anyone. Jon had told her to say little, which she interpreted as 'shut the fuck up, or you'll regret it.' It made sense, though; one wrong word could result in her head joining the rest of the dishes on the table. _I'm sure they wouldn't refuse to eat lion_, she mused, looking around her. The Northerners did have a certain..._wild_ quality about them.

Occasionally, she would meet Jon's eyes from across the clamber of people. He would smile at her, but she would make no attempt at returning the favor. Not even he could brighten her mood at this point.

She kept her eyes on her plate and shoveled the food around with her fork. She had somehow gotten placed in between Dacey Mormont, the Lord Commander's niece, and a squire Lannister had not cared to take the name of, but recognized his sigil to be that of House Frey.

"Girl, do you Southerners even eat?" Dacey boomed, nodding to Lyra's almost full plate. Mormont took a swig of her ale, throwing her head back. That was all they knew about Lyra; she was a Southern bastard. Lyra was sick of having to play the part of a bastard again, but it was something she was accustomed to. Even back home at Casterly Rock, she had felt like an outsider.

"I'm just not hungry," Lannister mumbled, avoiding Dacey's sharp gaze.

"Look at you-" Lyra yelped when Mormont pinched her side. "You haven't got any meat on you. It's any wonder how you can hold a sword."

"Thank you for your concern, but it's not needed," Lyra retorted, a bit harsher than intended. Dacey merely shrugged, unfazed by her tone, and turned to the others, effectively leaving Lannister alone once more.

She participated in a bit of idle small talk with the Frey squire next to her, not giving out more than her first name, and smoothly avoiding his prodding questions, redirecting them back to him with ease. Having Tyrion for a cousin had really come in handy; he'd taught her how to use her words and sweet talk her way out of a disadvantageous situation. She remembered Jaime telling her to just use her sword, while Cersei had told her that her cunt was the best weapon of all. _Cunts, swords, words...they all end with the same thing. War._

Lord Robb stood up close to the end of the meal, clinking his goblet with his fork to get everyone's attention. The room fell silent, and all eyes were on the Young Wolf. "I would call Lady Lyra Hill to join us to answer some questions."

"What does a flowery Southern bastard know of anything?" one of the men spat angrily.

"More than us, so it seems," Robb countered. The direwolf sitting as it feet snarled in warning. Stark's eyes locked with Lyra's from across the sea of people, her pulse pounding loudly in her ears. She saw the corner of his mouth twitch upward ever so slightly, but there was no amusement in his face, nor in his striking blue eyes.

Slowly, shakily, she lifted herself out of her seat, her hands gripping the edge of the table when her knees threatened to give way. Swallowing thickly, she followed Robb and the rest who had sat on the dais. She tried to ignore the stares and glares of the soldiers, feeling each set of eyes burning holes into the back of her head. Cersei's words echoed in her ears- _"The lion does not tremble in the presence of the other animals. The lion dominates, is the top. No one can beat the lion."_

Yet Jaime was being held a prisoner of war by Robb and his men, along with countless other Lannister soldiers. _Cousin Cersei, my dear...your logic seems to be flawed._

Lannister followed the others to Robb's tent. The warm evening breeze kissed her face, running its fingers through her hair. She had grown used to the biting, nipping winds up North. Going back South was a nice change.

Ryker Manston pulled her aside before they stepped inside the tent. "If Lord Robb asks you something, don't lie. He'll know."

"He's just a man," she protested, jerking her arm out of Ryker's hold.

The Manston boy smiled humorlessly. "He'll know if you lie because Grey Wind will bite your fingers off if you do."

Her eyes widened in horror, her face paling. "U-understood," she squeaked out, taking a step back from the boy.

"Good girl," he praised, putting his hand on the small of her back and herding her inside the tent. The group was already gathered around the table, every set of eyes on her.

"Lady Hill," Robb greeted, his voice tight. "Please, take a seat." He gestured to the chair at the end of the table. She nodded and scurried to it, her pulse racing wildly. _Is this how I die? _

"Don't be nervous," Theon Greyjoy drawled, sitting down next to her. "We're only going to ask you a few questions." _That's very reassuring, thank you for your input, Greyjoy_.

Lord Merek Manston cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. "My daughter spoke very highly of you."

"I am honored, my lord," Lyra replied automatically, her lessons with her septa kicking in. _Don't say more than you have to, and only speak when spoken to_.

"Both Stannis and Renly Baratheon have proclaimed themselves as the rightful king," Robb informed her, getting straight to the point. "Both of them question Joffrey's claim to the throne. As a Lannister, we thought that you would know a bit more about the reason for their doubts, since your cousin, the Kingslayer, had no mind to tell us anything."

Her heart leaped into her throat. "My lord, you're gravely mistaken-"

"Jon told us everything." Stark's mouth was pressed into a thin, grim line. It was only then that Lyra had noticed that Snow wasn't there. _Too guilty to see me, Snow? You fucking bastard; you're getting your arse kicked_.

"There's nothing to worry about," Elira piped up. "We won't tell your family about your whereabouts, and you're perfectly safe here." She offered Lannister a small smile, but it brought no comfort to the Southerner.

"At my wife and my brother's request," Robb added, crushing any of Lyra's hopes of being letting her go so easily. "You'll remain here and be treated as-"

"-as a hostage?" Lyra bit out, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Theon shoot up, his hand resting almost casually on the hilt of his sword.

"As one of my soldiers." Robb glared at her, his nostrils flaring. "My wife told me that she had named you her sworn shield, and I won't interfere with that."

"Pardons, my lord," Lannister squeaked, slinking deeper into her cloak.

He straightened his back, bringing himself to his full height. _Trying to intimidate me, eh, Stark? The Young Wolf…well that's all you are. __**A boy**__. _"Do you have any idea as to why Stannis and Renly would doubt Joffrey's claim to the throne?"

"Queen Cersei was only ever married to Robert Baratheon, and even if she had a lover, the point of an affair is secrecy." She crossed her arms over her chest, defiant. "My cousin and I were never close, my lord. I doubt she would tell me anything, even if we _were _close."

"The Lannisters tried to murder my younger brother, Bran. No doubt you've met him." Robb's cheek twitched. "An innocent boy of ten. They sent an assassin in the dead of night to kill him."

"I apologize on behalf of my family, Lord Stark, but I had nothing to do with it, if that's what you're asking. I was at the Wall at that point. I'd already severed all ties with my family."

"I wasn't accusing you of anything. I want to know _why _they tried to kill him."

Lyra took in a deep breath in order to calm herself. "My lord, how could I possibly know the answer to that if I wasn't there at the time of the occurrence?"

His expression softened, and she almost felt sorry for him. _Almost. Just because you're a big bad wolf, Stark, doesn't mean you can talk to me like this. _"You're our only hope for finding anything out."

"I'm afraid I know nothing about the legitimacy of Joffrey and the rest. My apologies, my lord." She shrugged. "Perhaps you should try talking to Tyrion. He's the only sensible Lannister, and I'm sure he'd be eager to get this matter sorted out."

"I already spoke to him," Lady Catelyn interjected. "We crossed paths on the Kingsroad, and I took him to the Eyrie to answer for his crimes. He got away unscathed." _So that's why he didn't send any letters. Looks like you got yourself into a bit of trouble, Imp._

"Lord Tywin was appointed Hand of the King," Ryker reminded them. "Perhaps one of us can go to King's Landing and try to get some answers, or negotiate-"

"You think he'll let you leave?" Catelyn interrupted, meeting the hazel eyes of the Manston boy. "You're committing treason, not to mention you're the Robb's brother by law. They could kill you, or worse." Ryker nodded in understanding, defeated.

"It will be impossible to reason with Lord Tywin," Merek said, his brow furrowed in concentration. "The Lannisters look down upon everyone else. They will not agree to any terms unless they are their own."

"Any idea of peace right now is just that- an idea. Any hope at peace was shattered after they killed Lord Eddard," Greyjoy pointed out. Robb visibly stiffened, and didn't even relax when Elira put a hand on his shoulder.

Lyra cleared her throat, and everyone whipped their heads toward her, finally remembering that she was there. "Perhaps a marriage between the Lannisters and the Starks would…quell things." She blushed fiercely, Jon coming to mind. Elira gave her a knowing look, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

Robb stared at her, his gaze hard and unblinking. "Jon is already betrothed to one of Lord Walder Frey's daughters." She felt a block of ice lodge itself in the pit of her stomach. _Jon's…getting married? _She swallowed thickly and tried to formulate a response, a thought, _anything_. She couldn't think straight, and felt as if she would pass out at any given moment.

Elira- _thank the gods for Elira_- noticed her discomfort, and was quick to sympathize. "Lyra, how about you go get some rest? I'm sure we can pick this up again tomorrow." She looked at her husband pointedly. Robb had the grace to blush, and nodded his head wordlessly.

"Thank you, my lady," Lyra croaked out. She braced herself on the edge of the table and pulled herself out of her chair. "My apologies, if I was not able to help out with anything," she added, remembering her courtesies. Elle only smiled softly. Lannister dashed out of the tent, a wave of nausea coming over her.

An arm reached out and grabbed her, rooting her in place. "Let me go!" she hissed, squirming in the iron grip. She looked up and saw Ryker Manston, studying her with hazel eyes. "What do you want, my lord?" she snapped, her tone icy.

"A lifetime ago, I wouldn't understand why you'd be so upset," he began, his voice quiet. "But now I do. I love my wife more than anything, and I can't imagine being without her." He released his hold on her. "We'll find a way for you to be with Jon. I swear it on my life."


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five

Hey guys! Sorry for the delay, but I hope this chapter makes up for it.

I already have about half the next chapter written, so hopefully I'll get the next update out faster.

I wish everyone a safe, happy and healthy New Year!

Thanks to everyone who reads/subscribes/faves and, most especially, reviews!

Enjoy! Mwah!

* * *

**_Jon_**

He entered his tent, his feet barely lifting off the floor, his movements painfully slow. He found it hard to breathe, as if an iron fist was clenching around his throat. His vision was blurred as he made his way to the table in the middle of his tent, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. He didn't even feel as if he was in his body at all. More as if he was simply watching himself; nothing felt real.

Trembling, he sat down in the chair, and he knew that if it was even a mere step away, his legs would have given way. He reached over and poured himself a goblet of wine- it was the strong Dornish kind Theon had brought him last night. Exactly what Jon needed.

He threw back the wine in one shot, slamming the now-empty cup back onto the table. He felt light-headed and dizzy, his head swimming. The wine burned as it went down his throat into his belly, sickly-sweet and hot. He poured himself another cup, his hands shaking. Some wine spilled on the table- which Theon would surely yell at him for, should he find out, since it was an expensive brew- but Jon didn't care.

If he's feeling this way, he can't even begin to imagine how Robb and Elira must feel. It had only started out as going to war to fight for freedom, yet it had escalated to being crowned the King and Queen in the North. _The first we've had in three hundred years. _And possibly the last.

_"You are my brother- not in name, but in blood." Jon unsheathed his sword and kneeled in between Ryker and Theon. He laid the sword at Robb's feet. "The King in the North!"_

Jon pressed his fingers to his temples and closed his eyes, trying to keep his composure in check. He breathed deeply and exhaled slowly, ignoring Ghost's nudges and whines. He replayed the scene over and over again in his mind and attempted to wrap his mind around it. It still felt so surreal, and he couldn't help but think that he would never truly believe what had happened that night.

_"Jon Snow...I would name you my Hand."_

_"It is an honor I am not worthy of, Your Grace."_

_"You are my brother, and a Stark, at that. I should think you very worthy of the honor."_

Jon cursed under his breath and sunk back into the chair. If marching to war against the Iron Throne was considered treason, he didn't even want to _think_ about what this was. Everything was happening so fast, so soon, he wished time would just slow down. He often forgot that they were barely eighteen, and none of them had any idea what they were doing. Between this, the war and the death of his lord father, it was almost too much.

_"Kneel, Jon Snow." Jon did as he was told, for his brother was now also his king. "Should I die and my son is not of age, I would name you his Regent, until he comes of age and is fit to rule. I trust you to raise him well, guide him, and help him, should he need it." Robb paused, and from underneath his curls, Jon could see his brother looking to his wife, almost as if for permission. "I would also name you a Stark. You are my brother in blood, and now, in name."_

"Jon Stark," he tested it, murmuring into the otherwise silent tent. "Prince Jon Stark." He pursed his lips, not certain whether he liked it or not. It would take some getting used to, that was for sure.

"Prince Jon," one of his guards called, poking his head into the tent. It took Jon a moment to realize that he was in fact talking to him. "There's someone here for you. Lady Lyra."

"Send her in," he replied automatically, running his finger over the rim of the wine goblet. In truth, he knew that he shouldn't be admitting her in this late, considering the type of reputation he had to upkeep, now that he was a prince. But frankly, he didn't care about any of that right now; he hadn't spoken to her in days, and, even though he just realized it, he missed her. He would also never see himself as a true prince- or a true Stark- so that helped a little. Or made things worse, he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of anything, now.

Lyra stepped into his tent, and it seemed as if she brought the evening chill with her. Just from the slight crease between her brow and the hint of a frown on her lips, Jon knew something was wrong. "What did I do this time?" he teased, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

She didn't laugh like she normally would have. Instead, she sighed and took off her cloak, draping it over one of the chairs around the table. She wore her old, loose sleeping tunic and breeches, paired with tattered slippers, and Jon couldn't help but wonder if she was intent on staying the night.

"Even if you had, I doubt I could tell you," she responded, taking a seat across from him, "with you being a prince now, and all." He thought he saw a slight smile on her lips, but any hope of that was gone within a moment- she frowned deeply and avoided his gaze, staring off into space.

"Don't start with that shit, _please_," he groaned, burying his head in his hands.

"Watch your mouth, my prince."

He glared at her. "I don't want this to change anything between us. It _shouldn't_."

She matched his icy stare, her jaw clenching, and Jon thought back to when King Robert and the rest of the royal party had visited Winterfell. _Gods, but she looks like Cersei when she does that_. "It seems to slip your mind that you're getting married to one Lady Frey." She rested her ankle on her other knee. "So, yes, I do believe it changes things between us."

He watched her, incredulous. "Are you _jealous_?"

She barked out a laugh at that, hollow and humorless. "That's a cute one. Really, it warms my heart." She bared her teeth, and for the first time, Jon saw the real lioness in her. "I'm not _jealous_- that's child's play. I'm hurt, I'm angry, I'm _confused_." She rested her hand against her forehead. "I should have stayed back at the Wall," she murmured, more to herself than him.

"What if someone would have found you out?" Jon demanded, clenching and unclenching his fists. "What if they killed you? I never would have-"

"Like you could have protected me like that," she snapped. "We fucked before; surely it would have happened again. Think about it- on the harsh, freezing nights, wouldn't a nice cunt be good to warm you up?" Her scowl deepened. He recoiled as if she'd slapped him. "What if I was carrying your child? What then?"

He swallowed thickly and tried to formulate a response. A beat. Nothing. "Are you carrying my child right now?" he asked hoarsely after a few deafening moments of silence.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be stupid, Snow."

"It's Stark now," he said weakly.

She cocked her head to the side, and it took a second for her to process the words. "Right, I'll have to get used to that." _That makes two of us_.

"Why'd you bring up a baby?" he asked, slightly panicking. If she was pregnant, she would have started to show by now, wouldn't she? Gods, he wished he knew more about women.

"It was an _example_, stupid," she scoffed, giving a toss of her hair. The muddy brown dye was fading, he noted, the signature Lannister gold beginning to take its place. Her hair was at her shoulders now, and he found that he rather liked it; it gave her a softer quality, somehow, even if she _was_ yelling at him now.

"You think I _want_ to get married?" Jon murmured, tracing random patterns on the table with his fingertip. "Much less to a girl who I don't know?" She didn't respond, since they both already knew the answer. "I don't deserve this. Any of this. I'm a bastard. I should still be at the Wall."

"Jon, your self-pity act is getting a little old now," she told him, her voice softened. The corners of her lips twitched upwards into a tiny smile. She covered his hand with her own and interlaced her fingers with his. "You may be a bastard, but you're _my _bastard." He half-expected her to reach over and pinch his cheeks, or ruffle his hair, something she knew he hated.

He smiled crookedly. "You're terrible with the sentimental things." He let out a laugh at her exasperated expression.

"You know I'm terrible with those things." She gnawed on her bottom lip, and Jon couldn't help but stare. "You're supposed to be the good one at that." He brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles, his thumbs tracing the veins on her wrist. "See, there's the sentiment I was talking about," she joked, although he could hear the note of breathlessness in her voice. "I can't stay mad at you. You make it so hard."

"My apologies, my lady." He bit back a smirk. Her teeth began working her bottom lip again, and he could practically see the gears grinding and turning in her brain. His eyes were transfixed upon her full lips, and before he knew what he was doing, he stood up, still holding Lyra's hand. Within two strides, he was leaning over her and he captured that pretty mouth with his. She stood up and returned the kiss, her fingers clutching onto his doublet.

He encircled her waist and brought her closer, shifting her so her ass was on the edge of the table, his tongue parting her lips. She greedily accepted and tangled her fingers in his hair. Jon's hands wandered to the hem of her loose tunic and pushed it up, feeling the smooth bare skin of her stomach.

She pushed him away suddenly, her pupils blown wide as she stared at him. "Just because you're a prince doesn't mean you can have your way with me," Lyra panted, fixing her tunic.

"I-I wasn't-"

"And you're getting married," she continued, ignoring him. She paused for a moment, her gaze falling to the floor. "As am I."

"You're _what_?" he gaped at her.

"I'm to go to King's Landing to broker a marriage agreement," she stated, crossing her arms over her chest. She shrugged a little. "Since I'm on _your_ side now, I can offer to marry one of the Lannister bannermen, and hopefully calm things down a bit. Maybe to the little Lefford lordling I left behind when I came to the Wall."

He sat back down, feeling lightheaded. Lyra Lannister, out of all people…getting _married?_ "But what about-"

"Us?" she suggested. "I think that we were never anything real. Even if we were, your betrothal to the Frey girl ended anything we had." Her ice cold mask was back on, chilling Jon to the bone. "I leave on the morrow. Goodbye, my prince." She bowed dramatically, but he didn't miss the roll of her green eyes. She spun on her heel, grabbing her cloak on the way, and made her way out of the tent.

"They'll never let you leave."

Lyra paused, one foot out the tent. "We'll see about that."


	27. Chapter Twenty-Six

Hey! Sorry for the delay: school started up again, and I may or may not have spent the last four days straight of my vacation watching Merlin. OOPS.

I wasn't originally going to do this chapter. It was in my original thoughts, but then I took it out, and Jaime kept on gnawing at the back of my brain, that damn little lion he is.

Yeah, it's kind of a filler. And yeah, maybe Jaime is OOC in this. I really don't know, so just tell me and I'll try and do better the next time.

The next chapter should be up sooner, since I have quite a bit of it written.

Also, I have another little story in the works, but I won't spoil too much...let's just say it has to do with Jon. You shall have to wait, because I am evil. Heh.

Thanks to everyone who reads/subscribes/faves and OF COURSE reviews! Which I would love to see, by the way. Ehehe.

Enjoy! Mwah!

* * *

**_Lyra_**

The guards stopped her before she could enter the dungeons. She put on her sweetest smile and batted her eyelashes, using all the tricks Cersei had taught her way back when. But the guards did not relent, only stood straighter, their swords blocking the entrance to the dungeons. _Do none of these Northerners have cocks?_ Men were usually the easiest to fool; the promise of a woman and what was between her legs was enough for them. _Cersei, you might want to update your methods._

"My lady, what business do you have with the Kingslayer?" one of the guards asked, eyeing her dubiously.

The smile fell off her face, annoyance and impatience building up. "He is my cousin, and I wish to see him before I depart to King's Landing this afternoon."

"You wish to see him to break him out of here?" the second guard sneered. Lyra's eyes widened a little in shock, surprised and affronted by his bold and rude remark.

"Your queen trusts me with her life. You shouldn't speak to me this way, or she'll know the reason why."

"Yet you don't deny the idea of helping Ser Jaime escape," the first guard retorted.

She opened her mouth to respond, but another voice spoke up before she could say anything. "You will let my lady pass. I know she means well. I'll even go with her, if that would ease your doubts." Lannister looked up to find the source of the voice and met the eyes of Matthew, the squire, whom she had not seen since they first arrived at camp.

"Let us pass or I will tell your queen," Matthew threatened, and Lyra briefly wondered when he stopped being that immature boy and became a fierce young lad.

Reluctantly, the guards lowered their weapons and stepped aside, their eyes downcast. "Thank you," Lyra whispered to the squire as they walked into the cell.

"It was the least I could do," he replied simply, looking straight ahead throughout.

She furrowed her eyebrows. "I have done nothing that needs repaying."

He smiled a little. "Perhaps it is merely because I consider you a friend." They spoke no more, and continued to walk to where Jaime was held.

"I'll wait here," he declared quietly, standing back near the cell entrance. She nodded and took a shaky breath, slipping past the guards and entering the cold, damp cell.

"Look who came to say hello," her cousin leered, smirking. "If it isn't the wolves' pawn. Tell me, do they keep you in a cell, too?" He feigned innocence, pouting from behind his unkempt beard. "Isn't it hard being a Lannister?"

"You would know that better than I," the girl snapped. "I was never like you or the others."

"Keep telling yourself that, child. You have earned the queen's good graces- her husband is sure to follow. Why not just stab both of them in the back and be done with it?"

"I won't become a second Kingslayer," she growled. "Unlike you, I have some honor."

"Honor?" he echoed. "Yes, fucking the Stark bastard is a _very_ honorable thing to do."

"You have no-"

"He's betrothed, you know. Must be hard on you." He gave her a look of false pity, his voice quieting until it was eerily soft. "And no one will want to marry a Lady who's lost her maidenhead. Then again, I heard the little Lefford is still enamoured with you, and refuses to marry anyone else. Wait until he hears that his lady love is still very much alive."

"So you know?" she interjected. "You know that I'm leaving?"

He smiled, sinister and chilling to the bone. "Word spreads fast here. You hear a lot of gossip from the guards." His green eyes hardened. "Most of it is about my sister. It's like guarding Robert's room all over again."

She shrugged. "I didn't think Robert would gossip like ladies in a court."

He glared at her, pulling at the chains. "The whores. Two, three, four at a time, fucking him, insulting my sister."

"There's no use dwelling on the past, dear cousin. It won't do you any good here." She gestured to the space in the cell. She looked back to Jaime, who was struggling in the chains. "You would strike me now, if you could. I know you would."

"You're too loose-lipped for your own good. You'll get yourself killed if you keep it up."

"Why the hell do you care?"

"I don't want my family dying, even if they're as estranged as you are."

"How touching," Lyra spat. "Save your pity, please. I've had enough of it."

"From me? This is the first you've spoken to me in years."

"From _everyone_!"

Jaime was visibly seething, his face bright red from underneath the layer of dirt and grime. "Why did you come to see me? To _yell _at me for siding with my family? Guess what, little one, that's the _normal _thing to do!" He pulled at his chains, baring his teeth.

"It doesn't mean it's the right thing." She scowled, her hand tightly gripping the hilt of her sword until her knuckles were white.

"And committing treason is?" her cousin demanded, finally admitting defeat and sagging against the wooden beam he was chained to. "You're not even from the North, dammit. But I suppose we could never talk any sense into you." He clenched his jaw. "Why are you here?" Despite his relaxed position, his tone was still as sharp as a knife.

"Perhaps I wanted to see you, cousin." Jaime barked out a laugh at that, which only deepened Lyra's scowl. "Or perhaps I wanted to know why the fuck people are questioning Joffrey's claim to the throne."

The Kingslayer blanched at that, his eyes widening as he stared at her. "I wouldn't know why," he replied, all the venom gone from his voice. "Is that it?"

She eyed him dubiously for a few moments. _Is he hiding something? Bloody hell, why would he tell you anyway? _"I suppose so." She straightened her back, her face a blank mask. "I shall see you when I return."

He gave her a crooked grin. "You don't think I could break out of here by then?"

A ghost of a smile flitted past her lips. "And why didn't you do it by now?" She tilted her head to the side. "Afraid of the big bad wolf?" Her cousin smirked at that. "Goodbye, ser."

"Reduced to titles now, are we?" He shifted a little, the chains rattling quietly. "Safe travels, my lady." She nodded sharply at him once, then spun on her heel and walked briskly out of the cell. She heard Jaime's whistling following her, the familiar tune drifting in the wind.

"Are you alright, my lady?" Matthew asked as she joined him outside the cell.

"Fine, thank you." She was not in the mood for speaking; time for talking was over. She picked up the pace of her strides and steered herself towards the horses.

"Queen Elira says I am to accompany you to King's Landing," Matthew told her, panting slightly. His footfalls became less heavy as he caught up to her, for he had had to run.

"Did she now?" Lannister quirked up an eyebrow and pushed past the lads helping out with the horses, searching for Strider, her own mount. _Poor boy, he's probably lonesome by now_. "Nice of her to think of me, but I don't think it's a good idea."

"Why not?" the squire questioned, following closely behind her.

"You're a Northern…warrior, for lack of better term, since you're nothing more than a green boy." He gaped at her, obviously offended by her belittling statement. She cut him off before he could even begin; "They'll kill you on sight, I bet. Or worse."

"I'm nothing but a squire."

"A _Northern_ one. You're committing treason as we speak."

"So talking to you is treason?"

Lyra sighed. "You know that's not what I meant." She finally found where Strider was being held, and felt guilty for leaving him alone for so long. "You'd be safer here. Queen Elira is not thinking of all the factors in this."

"What if I volunteered to go?" he countered, sidling up beside her. She realized then how much he had grown within the past few weeks. Or perhaps that was only because she hadn't seen him in awhile. _He's just a lad. His height doesn't change the fact that he's so green he pisses grass_.

"Then you would be the stupidest person I've ever met." Lyra checked to make sure that all her supplies were on Strider, for she did not want to run into trouble.

"The road is long and boring."

"That it is."

"I bet you would get awfully lonely."

"I consider myself to be _great _company."

"You could always use extra help for a hunt. O-or what if you got into a fight!"

She stared him up and down, taking in his eager expression and the way he bounced ever so slightly on the balls of his feet. "Have you ever killed a man before?"

He shook his head wildly, his curls flying from side to side.

Lannister smiled and swung up onto her mount. "You'll get your first, should you choose to join me." His eyes lit up with mirth, although she suspected it was more for the fact that he was getting his way. "Saddle your horse, boy. I don't have all day."

He stood at attention and looked up at her seriously, but she could not miss the glint in his eye. "As my lady commands."


	28. Chapter Twenty-Seven

Told you the update would be quick! Heh.

A chapter focusing on Robb and Elira, because there's so much going on and they just deserve a lil' lovin'.

We should dip into season/book 2 quite soon...I'm excited for that, not gonna lie :D

Thanks for reading/faving/subscribing and, as always, reviewing!

Enjoy! xoxo

* * *

**_Robb_**

He walked into their tent, every curse word he knew escaping his lips. The young lioness would be a problem for him, he knew. First she insisted on joining his army, and then she decided that she was to go to King's Landing to broker a marriage between her and one of her uncle's bannermen. _Jon, you really outdid yourself this time with this one..._

Robb threw off his cloak and tugged off his gloves, finding it hard to stop swearing. There was too much on his shoulders, and he had no idea how to deal with it. _And I thought kings got to do whatever they wanted._

"_Robb_." Only then did he realize that his wife was with him. He spun on his heel to face her. "They can hear you," she chastised mockingly. Lyanna was sleeping peacefully in the crib some of Robb's men had built. Ned was in his mother's arms, being gently rocked to sleep.

"Right, sorry," Stark muttered, letting his doublet fall to the floor. He went over to his wife and pecked her on the forehead. "I missed you," he murmured in her ear, pressing a kiss on the soft flesh of her neck.

Elle smiled and slipped away from him. "You've only been gone for half the day, Your Grace," she teased, putting a now-sleeping Ned into the crib. The babe instantly snuggled up to his sister's side.

Robb grinned. "Being around old, war-worn men all day long tends to make you crave for your wife more." He wrapped a gentle hand around her wrist and pulled her to him.

"So I'm just a cure for your cravings, then?" She batted her eyelashes innocently, staring up at him with wide hazel eyes.

"That, and much more." He cupped her cheek. "You are my wife, the mother of my children, and my queen." He brushed his lips against hers, putting a hand on the small of her back and bringing her even closer.

"Queen Elira Stark does have a nice ring to it." She beamed.

He chuckled and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. His thumb traced the outline of her face, her cheekbones, her lips. "You're gorgeous."

"You're too kind, Your Grace," Elira purred, a cat-like smirk on her lips.

Robb let his tunic fall to the floor and kicked off his boots. He lay down on the bed and beckoned her to join him. She sat in his lap, her arms wrapped around his neck.

She frowned as she studied him. "You don't sleep anymore."

"How can I?" He sighed, tracing the curve of her neck with his thumb. "I sent thousands of men to their deaths, and thousands more are certain to follow."

"They're fighting for what's right," she murmured, leaning into his hand when it cupped her cheek. "You are their king."

"What if I don't want to be?"

She carded her fingers through his hair. "Being a king is a terrible privilege no one wants to have."

"I wish I never got it," he admitted, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He often felt alone, when he had no reason to be. He had Elira, the babes, Jon, Theon, his mother, and twenty thousand men following him. But none of them understood what he was going through. None of them had the pressure of being the king.

He winced when he shifted his wife in his lap. Shooting pain coursed up his back- _gods, Stark, you're getting old._ Eighteen-year-olds shouldn't be leading an army to war. He longed for nothing more than to go back to Winterfell with his family, like in the old days. So long ago- a lifetime ago.

Elira saw his look of pain. She sighed and crawled out of his lap, going to his backside. "I suppose this is the job the queen is stuck with," she drawled and began to massage his shoulders.

"I wouldn't exactly want the Greatjon to do it." Robb smirked. She chuckled and tucked a leg under herself, her thigh pressing into Robb's lower back.

Her elegant fingers eased the tension from his neck and shoulders. Elle hummed tunelessly, palming his spine. Robb silently thanked the gods for his wife as his muscles relaxed, the pain dissipating.

He felt her warm lips against his neck, playfully nipped the skin there. Robb groaned at the sudden contact, sinking deeper into her touch. He felt her hands travel down the planes of his back, looping around his waist and finding the laces of his breeches. She pressed feather light kisses on his shoulder.

"You never have time for your wife anymore." Elira nuzzled his neck, pushing his breeches off his hips. He kicked them off, the offending garment falling to the floor.

In the blink of an eye, Robb had turned around, pinning Elle to the bed and hovering over her. He leaned down and captured her lips, kneeling between her legs, his hands trailing the sides of her body. "Despite to contrary beliefs, the king cannot, in fact, do as he likes." If he could, he would spend every waking moment with her. He slipped his hands under her thin nightshift, pushing it higher to give him better access.

"He can do as he likes in our quarters." She arched into his touch, her fingers digging into his biceps.

"Then I should quite like to see more of my queen." He grinned against her lips, his hands pushing and tugging more insistently at the nightshift. She pulled it over her head and the garment soon joined the rest of the clothing on the floor. She was more beautiful than he remembered, all womanly curves and soft skin. _Absence makes the heart grow fonder..._

Elle pushed him onto his back, straddling his waist. With deft fingers, she took off his smallclothes and tossed them aside, leaning in for another kiss. "I should think that the queen would not be entirely powerless." She subtly rocked her hips against his, eliciting a loud groan from Robb.

"The queen can do as she likes," he agreed breathlessly, his cock painfully hard. _Please, my queen, enough with the teasing. _He hadn't had her for a month, and he was longing for her all the while.

Elira chuckled, guiding him to her entrance. "How considerable." Her quiet laughter was cut off when he thrust into her, a loud moan escaping her lips. She took his hands in her own and placed them on her hips, helping set the rhythm and pace.

No doubt the guards could hear them from outside, and would give him odd and embarrassed stares the next day. But, at this point, Robb didn't care. He was their king, dammit, and he should be allowed to make love with his wife.

Elira collapsed onto his chest once they were finished, panting heavily. Stark drew lazy circles and patterns over her back with his fingertips. His wife snuggled deeper into his chest and closed her eyes. Robb kissed her cheek and pulled the furs up to cover them. He felt his own eyes becoming heavier, but any hope at sleep was gone when his wife pulled away from the embrace. She leaned on her elbow, looking down on him questioningly.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice thick with fatigue. He played with her long dark curls, twirling a ringlet around his finger.

"You should talk to Jon," she advised.

"You're thinking about him _here_, **_now_**?" he joked, his other hand travelling to the curve of her hip.

"It's difficult for him too," she argued. Elira frowned and rolled away from him to stare at the top of the tent. "He's a prince now and he's legitimized, sure, but his father is dead, his family is torn apart, and the one he loves has gone to King's Landing."

"She may never come back," he added in reluctant agreement. "I shouldn't have let her go-"

"It could help us greatly," Elle interjected. He knew this was hard for her as well, since she had become close friends with the Lannister girl. "It's a risk, but it may prove worthwhile yet."

He sucked in a sharp intake of breath. "Jon will never forgive me if she gets killed."

"They wouldn't kill one of their own," she said. "And he'll forgive you, eventually. It's himself that he'll never forgive."

"And why is that?"

"Robb, please." She turned her head and looked upon him with slight amusement, despite the seriousness of the situation. "He's your brother; you know how he is. He'll blame himself for her coming here in the first place." She pursed her lips and turned away, looking back to the ceiling of the tent. "She won't die. I know it." Elira shifted, and he felt her legs stretch out. "I chatted your ear off. What are _you_ thinking about?"

Robb shrugged a little. "Winterfell." He found her hand and squeezed it. "Do you remember our wedding day?"

She squeezed his hand in return. "Of course."

He chuckled softly. "I didn't think I'd be marrying a queen."

"And I didn't think I'd be marrying a king, much less following him to war." She smiled softly. "I wouldn't be a queen had you not made me one." She snuggled into his side and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You should talk to him, Robb. Sort everything out, and see how he's doing. He could use some company."

Robb nodded. "I'll speak with him tomorrow." His wife rewarded him with a peck to his lips. "I'm glad you're here with me," he murmured, his arm snaking around her waist.

"And where else would I be, if not by your side?" She brushed his damp auburn locks away from his face and looked on him, her gaze full of love. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be, Robb Stark."


	29. Chapter Twenty-Eight

Hey all! Sorry for the delay! School and such can be such a hassle eurk.

Kind of a short chapter, and yes, another visit to Jaime is in order.

On a side note, I have two projects that should BOTH almost be finished soon (fingers crossed)! I'm not going to give too much away...one has to do with Jon, and the second has to do with Renly/Loras and another couple...you'll just have to wait and see ehe.

Thanks for reading/faving/subscribing and, _of course_, reviewing! Which would always be appreciated!

Enjoy!

* * *

**_Elira_**

She feigned sleep until she was certain that her husband was in a deep slumber. Slowly, carefully, she slipped out of his embrace and tiptoed to the chest at the foot of the cot. She donned whatever she pulled out of the trunk; she only realized that the tunic she slipped on was Robb's when she was opening the flap of the tent. It didn't make a difference to her, and she doubted that many people would be out at this time of the night.

"Your Grace?" one of the guards outside the tent questioned, putting a hand on her arm to stop her from going any further. "Are you alright?"

"Perfectly fine, thank you," she chirped, fixing her messy hair into a loose braid. "It's a lovely time for a walk, isn't it? The weather is lovely down South." She fought back shivers as a cool breeze wafted by; _what great timing nature has._

"This late in the night, my queen?"

"Some pregnancy hormones are so persistent," she replied airily. "They never seem to go away." Frankly, she was surprised that the guard was giving her such a hard time; as queen, she should be able to do what she likes.

"Would you like someone to accompany you, my queen? You can never be too sure-"

"That's sweet of you, but I can manage fine on my own." Elle checked to make sure the sword was on her hip- subtly, for she did not want to prove the guard right-, just in case she ran in to trouble- _gods forbid_. "My husband trusts all twenty-thousand men here with his life, so I don't suppose I should do any different."

"As you wish, Your Grace." The guard bowed deeply. She quietly thanked him and brushed past him and the others outside the tent.

Walking around the camp at night wasn't so bad, now that she'd gotten used to her surroundings. The bright stars in the sky always helped give a little light, and the many candles and torches lit the path. If she was ever lost, one of the soldiers would lead her to where she wanted to go; they were all too eager to help their queen.

The area they were in was quite lovely, when she stopped to think about it. Wide, open spaces for riding horses, with lush green grass that felt lovely between your toes, especially after it had rained and the dew would cool your feet. Robb didn't like it when she did that, because he was always worried about her catching a death of a cold. _Sweet, young Robb…_

It was still hard for her to believe that he was eighteen, and already marching to war. Already _a king_. _Then again, you're sixteen and already a queen_. Life was funny, she thought; always the least likely people ended up with the power.

Elira easily got past the dungeon guards, only having to smile and give a small curtsy. They didn't even question why she was out so late, which she appreciated. She didn't feel like speaking anymore except to the one person she came to see.

"I hope I'm not interrupting your beauty sleep, ser." Elle entered the cell and walked over to the prisoner, keeping her chin high. She'd grown accustomed to the constant regal appearances ever since her and Robb had been crowned, and even before that, when she was merely- _merely, what a choice word_- Lady of Winterfell. Although, her current state of dress didn't much help for that aspect of regal appearances.

"I think I've had enough throughout the years, Your Grace; I've been told several times how pretty I am." Jaime grinned and gave his unkempt hair a toss. "On the subject of beauty, may I say that Robb couldn't have picked a lovelier queen?"

She smiled sweetly, yet her tone was as cold as ice. "You may, although it will not help you very much with your…current predicament."

Lannister's grin widened. "Can I not tell my queen the truth? Can I not say that she looks especially lovely this evening?"

"_Your _queen, ser? I do believe you have me mistaken for your sister, and I _do_ believe you have my breeches mistaken for a dress."

"The dark can be quite deceiving, Your Grace. And I'm certain that no matter what, what is under your garments will look ravishing." She would have been nervous, if not for the chains binding him; who knows what he would do with her if he could get his hands on her. Even without his sword, there were still many ways he could kill her…or do other things. She shuddered at the thought.

"I'm afraid that's none of your concern," she managed finally.

"Oh, but I wish it was," he leered, his green eyes twinkling even in the dark. His stare made her feel uneasy, and she unconsciously took a step back to distance herself.

"You flatter me, ser," she replied quietly, trying to keep her voice from shaking. Jaime Lannister was not like other men, as he had said; the young queen decided that was glad that there was only one of him.

"Now, my queen, what brings you to my humble abode so late at night?" She wanted to slap the smirk off his face. "Is your husband not the wolf he seems when it comes to your..._private activities_?" He waggled his eyebrows.

"My husband will be flattered to know that your thoughts lie with him in the bedchambers."

"Perhaps you would like to try out a lion?" he purred. "Perhaps that's why you're here."

"And perhaps you can stop thinking with that worm between your legs and use your head for once."

"My queen, your words wound me." Lannister sniffled and sighed dramatically. "It is so difficult to think with my brain when my worm, as you put it, is focused on such a pretty young woman." Elira could have sworn that he batted his eyelashes at her.

"I'm beginning to think men only _have _a brain in their cocks," she muttered, more to herself than to Jaime.

"Come over here and you can inspect and see for yourself, Your Grace."

In the blink of an eye, she'd drawn her sword and was pressing the blade to the Kingslayer's temple. "Your Grace, I had not known your sword to be so big, much less you having one!" he drawled, eyes glinting with mirth.

She ignored his innuendo. "Perhaps I should cut off your head, then, and see." She traced a line down his cheek to his chin with the tip of the sword. "Perhaps I should cut it off, as you have done to my uncle."

"It was a stab in the belly, if I may correct you."

"Right, of course. My mistake, ser; you never were one for honorable deaths." She lessened the pressure of the sword. "Tell me, how did he fall? I want to know."

The Kingslayer shrugged. "As easily as any man. It took me a moment to realize it was the_ great_ Ser Esmour." With a flick of her sword, the young queen had given Jaime a cut from forehead to chin. His head whipped to the right from the sting of it, a hiss escaping his lips, and she was certain she could see tears in his eyes.

"Don't ask if you will not like the answer, Your Grace."

"And don't insult my uncle when a sword is pointed at you."

"You _are_ a Stark, so it seems." He flinched when she dug into his cheek again, but his expression quickly changed to one of relief when she took the sword away. "Fierce as a wolf. I must admit, Your Grace...I rather like it."

Elira frowned and sheathed her sword, glaring at Jaime. "You'll find that I'm full of surprises, ser." She adjusted her cloak, then nodded at the knight. "It was a pleasure," she said icily.

"It is an encounter I will remember forevermore," he retorted, the warmth from his voice completely gone. "I'm sure you will sneak your way into my dreams."

She spun on her heel and smiled at him over her shoulder. "I'm afraid I can't promise the same."


	30. Chapter Twenty-Nine

Sorry for the delay! I had a ton of projects at school, but now that they're out of the way, hopefully I can update sooner!

Lots of fluff and mush for the Stark boys in this one. I can't help myself.

We're also dipping into season 2/book 2 now! Eee excitement!

Thanks for reading/faving/subscribing aaand reviewing! It really means a lot :*

Enjoy! xoxo

* * *

**_Jon_**

Jon sat quietly in the war council meeting, his eyes darting back and forth, trying to keep track of who was currently speaking. He was named Hand of the King, yet he seemed to have no advice to offer his brother. Even if he did, he doubted that he'd be able to get a word in, with all the shouts and yells from the other men. Robb seemed to have a penchant for picking the loudest, most determined men for his war council.

"Both Renly and Stannis are too _proud_ to want to join armies," Theon declared with a roll of his eyes. "They consider us traitors, trying to steal the North from them."

"The North is what's rightfully ours," Ryker shot back, tossing his hair out of his face. "It's too vast for them to control. It only makes sense that we have it."

"We've been guarding it for those pretty flowers for years," Greatjon agreed. "They're all too soft and green to venture North and tame our lands."

"They have no reason to call us traitors, when all we want is the North," Lord Merek pointed out. "They challenge Joffrey's claim to the Throne, and they want it for themselves." Murmurs of agreement went around the table.

"If we are to march on King's Landing, we need all the support we can get," Robb gritted out, his hands gripping the edge of the table. "You call Renly and Stannis proud, yet all of you refuse help from anyone else. We may have twenty-thousand men, but is that enough to attack King's Landing? We have no ships, and we do not know the South like the Baratheons do."

"We have the Kingslayer," Ser Rodrik spoke up, his arms crossed over his chest. "Not to mention that we've beaten the Lannisters in battle thrice now. Even Renly and Stannis cannot deny that we're a more than capable army."

Theon cleared his throat. "Your Grace, with all due respect, they could admit that the wildlings are a capable army. It does not mean that they would combine forces with them." The shouting match began again, making Jon wince. _Agreeing to this position is definitely not the best decision I made…_ He wondered if this was how his father felt every day when he was serving as King Robert's Hand.

"_Out_, all of you!" Robb bellowed, slamming his fist down on the table. The other men stared at the king in shock for a few moments, before they stood up and shuffled out. "You, too, Greyjoy," Robb muttered, staring at the maps laid out on the table. Theon bowed and scurried out, his eyes downcast. Jon was about to leave as well, but his brother's hand on his arm made him freeze in place. "Stay, please."

Jon nodded. "Of course, Your Grace." He sat down, trying to keep his composure in check.

Robb sighed, exasperated, and gave him a slightly annoyed look. "You don't need to call me that. It's bad enough Theon and Ryker are starting to do it. I don't need it from you." He poured them each a glass of wine. "You're the Hand of the King, and my brother, no less." He took of a swig of wine. "You were quiet during the meeting."

"I'm always quiet."

The king smiled a little behind the rim of his glass. "I suppose so. Although you were even quieter tonight, if that's possible."

"You are the king. I am only supposed to speak when spoken to."

Robb snorted. "You have a higher status than those other men, yet _they_ speak freely."

The prince shrugged. "Perhaps I just take my vows more seriously than others." He took a sip of his wine, the alcohol burning as it went down his throat.

Robb sat down across from Jon. "Come now, Jon, I know when something's wrong. What's troubling you?"

Jon stared into his goblet thoughtfully, his finger tracing the rim of it. "Everything is happening so fast. You legitimize me one moment, and in the next I'm the Hand of the King." He clenched his burnt hand, the scars still stinging ever so slightly under his glove. "Ryker doesn't smile anymore, Elira never sings like she used to, and now Lyra's gone down to King's Landing." _All while she expects me to sit here and stay quiet_."You know your mother disapproves of your choice. About making me a Stark."

"You were always a Stark. And you always will be." Robb waved his hand. "She disapproves of me acknowledging my brother? So be it. When we decided to march south to make a change, I promised myself I would change things for you too." He took a long drink of his wine. "You'll see. Once you help win the war and get the girls back, things will be different."

"And if I die in battle?"

"She will know you died in battle in the name of the Starks, and she will know you did it with honor. You have already earned her respect." Jon refrained from snorting; _she sure has a strange way of showing it. _The Young Wolf stared at Jon seriously. "But you won't die in battle. I know you won't." He drained his cup and set it on the table. "I value your opinions. Now, tell me," he stood up and moved the pieces around on the maps, "would you say support Renly or support Stannis?"

Jon sucked in a deep breath, tightly gripping the goblet. His eyes scanned the maps, taking in all the sigils, strategically placed for any outcome. "Stannis is the rightful heir, but Renly has more men." He gnawed on the inside of his cheek. "Then again, Stannis is a seasoned warrior, while Renly's fought no wars."

"I had the same thoughts. I don't know who to negotiate with."

"Do you think…" Jon trailed off, shaking his head, his cheeks flushing.

"Do I think-"

"Never mind. It was a stupid idea."

Robb furrowed his brow. "Tell me. Please."

The prince swallowed thickly, avoiding his brother's intent blue gaze. "Do you think Renly and Stannis would combine forces? They have a common enemy- we all do; the Lannisters." When Robb didn't respond, Jon's teeth wore his lip. "Forget it. I told you it was stupid-"

"No, no, I think you're onto something," his brother said slowly. "Two armies are better than one, but three armies…" He grinned widely, and for once in what seemed like a lifetime, he looked like the young boy at Winterfell again. "We could have a Great Council. The last one was centuries ago; imagine what could happen." His eyes sparkled with mirth.

"And you're the first King in the North we've had in centuries," Jon pointed out, smiling crookedly. He raised his glass high in the air. "A toast. To the King in the North."

Robb filled his wine glass, raising it simultaneously. "And to his Hand." They knocked glasses, then threw back the wine. "Jon," the king murmured, setting his glass down. "I would ask you to treat with Stannis Baratheon in my stead."

The prince felt his throat close up. "A-are you sure? I wouldn't know what to say-"

"Say what has been said here tonight. Tell him of our cause, tell him that it is the same as his. Our father vouched for Stannis as king; he knows this. He has reason to join forces with us." He put his hand on his brother's shoulder, his voice softening. "I believe in you, Jon."

Jon nodded his head sharply. "I will ride at first light." He stood up, his limbs trembling with both nervousness and excitement. "Who shall treat with Renly?"

Robb pursed his lips, his expression thoughtful. "I shall send my mother. She has known Renly since he was a child. And I trust her to make the right decisions."

Jon bowed deeply. "I will do everything in my power to get Stannis to join our cause." He yelped out in surprise when his brother pulled him into a tight hug, his beard scratching his cheek.

"Thank you," Robb murmured into Jon's hair. Jon couldn't help but smile. "We'll go home soon. Ryker will smile, Elira will sing, and Lyra will be back." Tears stung Jon's eyes as he remembered running in the godswood with his siblings, sparring with Robb and Theon, snowball fights with Elira…

Jon could only hug him back.


	31. Chapter Thirty

Hey!

Honestly I hate this chapter but it kind of had to be done to see more of Gisella, and even possibly hint at something coming up? That's as far as I'm gonna go. No spoilers, sweetie.

Thanks to everyone who reads/faves/subscribes and, of course, reviews! Everything is appreciated! mwah!

Enjoy! xoxo

* * *

**_Theon_**

He swung down from the mount, his boots landing in the thick brown mud. He scowled, trying to shake some of the mud off. With all the blasted rain from the past few days, it was nearly impossible to find a dry spot. Theon should have been used to the rain- it rained often in Pyke- but that didn't mean he liked it.

The rains in Pyke were cold and harsh; it fell and hit you like tiny knives, pricking and poking your skin. In the Riverlands, at least, it was warm, almost like bathwater. Still, being soaked to the skin and having your clothes cling to you all day long was a hassle, even when the rain was as warm as it was.

Theon walked around the open field, his- _borrowed_- horse trailing behind him, whinnying quietly. It was nice to be in a wide open space for once; the camp was much too crowded. He didn't have to share a tent with anyone- _thank the Drowned God_- but everything was stuck together, the heat and the smells following you wherever you went.

"Damn beast," Greyjoy muttered, trying to pull the mare his way, but she was frozen in place. She bent her head and began eating the grass at their feet, eliciting a loud curse from Theon. "Why the fuck won't you just come with me?" he shouted, pulling hard on the reins.

It had been a couple weeks since Theon's encounter with Gisella, and still, there had been no sight of her. He still had to give this damn horse back to her. He had soon found that the horse was half-blind and the damn thing was pregnant. He wasn't sure if this was some sort of joke or prank on Gisella's part, but in any case, he just wanted to rid himself of the stupid horse.

"So nice of you to finally drop by." The voice made Theon jump and drop the horse's reins. The mare shuffled to Gisella, whinnying and shaking her large head. Gisella grinned triumphantly and began stroking the beast's mane.

"It's not funny," Greyjoy spat. Gisella continued chuckling silently. "If you're here to mock me, then forget about taking your stupid horse back." The mount trotted over to the nearby stream and bent down to take a drink.

Gisella took her red hair in hand and wrung it out, a glint of mirth in her eyes. "I know you're lying," she singsonged, wiping her hands on her light blue dress. "You wanted to get that beast off your hands for the past two weeks." She feigned innocence, her bottom lip jutting out slightly. "Now, what I'm wondering is why you didn't come give poor Chloe to me beforehand. Who knows what kind of torment she dealt with at your hand?"

Theon scowled, a part of him wishing that she had just stayed back home on Pyke. "What are you even doing here?" He tried not to focus on the way her blue eyes glittered, or on the way her lips were tugged upward in a tiny smirk. Even now, after several years apart, it was hard for him to stay mad at her.

Gisella shrugged dramatically and tossed her long hair over her shoulder. "I knew you would come." Theon felt himself flush when he realized that she must have been bathing in the river; damp messy hair, barefoot, a few water droplets dotting her brow, neck and tops of her breasts.

"What do you mean you _knew _I would come?" he demanded, his jaw clenching. "I could have come any day for the past two weeks, and I didn't." He still felt like a child when he was with her; they used to bicker incessantly when they were children, usually about irrelevant and unimportant things.

"I just _knew _you would, so stop asking," Gisella snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. Her smile fell off her face, and she now matched his scowl. She suddenly remembered her greyscale, and was quick to cover the patches with her hair; he knew that she had always been self-conscious about it.

"Tell me," Theon ordered, taking a step towards her. She looked up at him from under dark eyelashes and gave him a tiny shake of her head. "_Tell. Me_," he gritted through his teeth. Again, the redhead shook her head, her arms crossed over her chest. "I am your lord; you will tell me."

"His lord does make commands he would not fulfill himself."

His brow furrowed, and he felt his anger dissipate; no matter how many years apart, they were still exactly as they were when they were children. "Please. Tell me."

"You'll think I'm insane," she said in a quiet voice, kicking a patch of dead grass.

"I won't," he blurted out. "I promise." He paused for a moment. "It's not because of the dreams, is it?" The redhead used to sneak into his chambers at night, clambering into his bed and recalling the dreams she just had. She would tell them like one of the songs; everything was so magical and mystical, and Theon had never believed her, even though he was a naïve young boy back then.

"Maybe. Something with it, possibly." Gisella shrugged a shoulder, a nervous air surrounding her. "I can't explain it. I-it just happens, and I don't know why." She kept babbling, pacing back and forth. If she kept it up, Theon was sure there would be a rut in the ground. "Sometimes I'm spoken to, but other times, I…" She shook her head.

"You're what?" Theon put a gentle hand on her wrist. "Gisella, please. Tell me." _I want you to trust me. Just pretend we're children back at Pyke_.

She gnawed on her lip. "Sometimes I-I'm alone, and it's scary, but then…" Her eyes became glassy, a faraway look in them. "I _see _things, but it's not _me_. It's like I'm someone else." She shook her head again, her damp red hair flying in all directions. "It's nothing, I promise." Greyjoy saw blood on her lips from all her chewing.

Theon frowned and tucked a stray strand behind her ear. "You're lying."

"Am not." She pushed him away from her.

The corner of his mouth quirked up, her hair slipping out from between his fingers. "You bite your lips whenever you lie."

Gisella stomped off, heading towards the river, where Chloe was still drinking. "I'm not telling you anything more. I was sent away from the Iron Isles for it, and who knows where else I'll go if _you _find out." She tugged on her leather boots, then grasped the reins and pulled Chloe away from the river. Thunder boomed, gray clouds looming overhead. The sudden threat of a storm made her move even faster, pulling the horse to the middle of the field.

"I won't send you away," Theon told her, jogging to keep up with her. "Why were you-" Realization hit him like a tidal wave; _the dreams. Fuck, everything makes sense now_. "_Greenseer_!" he whispered in awe. He thought that the Children of the Forest were the last of those, and they were long gone. "It's just a myth, isn't it? H-how can you-"

"I _wish _it was just a myth," Gisella growled, tying her hair back into a messy bun. "You're on the right track, though. But I'm not telling you anything else." She pulled herself onto the mount, swinging a leg on each side.

"You can't just leave me hanging like that!" Theon felt a few raindrops fall onto his head, and soon enough, the rain fell down heavily. Within a few moments, his clothes were soaked; _lovely. Just when they had started to dry_. He'd have to talk to Robb about moving the camp soon.

"It's not a story or a song, Lord Greyjoy. It's the truth, but I wish it wasn't." She surprised Theon by holding out her hand for him. "Are you coming? A walk back to camp would be hell in this storm."

Greyjoy smirked. "And a ride on a half-blind horse is the better alternative?" He took her hand and lifted himself onto the mount, wrapping his arms around Gisella's waist.

"Don't forget; she's pregnant too." The redhead urged Chloe forward, and the mare took them back to camp, albeit at a slow pace. The storm didn't seem as bad once they were on the horse, though Greyjoy knew he wasn't truly avoiding any of the rain. Still, the illusion was a nice thought.

They arrived at the camp a short while later, when the storm was beginning to clear. "Thank you for returning her to me," Gisella said, letting Theon help her off the horse.

"No thanks are necessary."

She smiled a little. "Since when have you become a gentleman?" The two chuckled and Greyjoy accompanied his long time friend to the stables.

"Will I see you again?" he asked, running his hands through his wet hair.

"I don't see why not." She set up Chloe in a stall, then rejoined Theon at the entrance to the stables. "You can't tell anyone about the dreams," she whispered, squeezing his hand.

"I won't. I promise." The redhead hugged him tightly, her arms wrapped around his neck. Gingerly, he returned the hug; he had never been one for affections, nor had he ever been on the receiving end.

"Warg," she breathed into his ear, still holding him to her, "the word you're looking for is Warg."


	32. Chapter Thirty-One

Hey! :)

Part of this has been collecting dust in my harddrive, so I brushed it up and changed it around, and voila!

I thought we should check in on our little lioness and see how she's holding up.

A few surprises are in store! Hehe. Be prepared.

Thanks for reading/subscribing/faving and OF COURSE reviewing! Anything and everything is much appreciated!

Enjoy! xoxo

* * *

**_Lyra_**

They set up camp in the middle of the woods and even allowed themselves a small fire. It had been awhile since they had some warmth and a cooked meal, and decided that it had been long enough since their last. However lovely the welcome heat was, they knew it would have to end soon; the fire couldn't stay alight for long, in case red cloaks or robbers caught sight of the flames.

Matthew sat across from her, on the other side of the makeshift fire pit, whittling away at a small branch. _You can never be too prepared, or too armed_, he had told her a few days ago. Lyra personally thought that the whittling was more of an activity to pass the time, considering the fact that the lad had never been in battle before; what the hell was he supposed to know about being armed and prepared?

She let him whittle away, as he pleased; as long as he wasn't bothering her or causing any trouble, she was fine with that. She dug into her saddlebag and pulled out two black cloaks, along with two tunics to match. "You'll want to wear these when we ride into town tomorrow," she told him, tossing the squire a tunic and a cloak.

"My lady, why all black?"

She smiled a little and unsheathed her dagger. Gathering all her hair into a fist, she chopped it off, the scraggly blonde locks now only to her chin. She tossed the chopped hair into the flames. "We are to play the parts of men of the Night's Watch." She pulled out the container of hair dye she had brought with her; _so we meet again. Bugger. I was starting to get used to the blonde._

"But aren't we going to King's Landing to broker a marriage for you?" Despite his doubts, Matthew still shed his emblazoned doublet and slipped on the tunic. Lyra resisted the urge to ruffle his hair when she saw it was all messy from putting on the tunic.

"Yes, and once we get inside the city walls, we will do just so. In front of the Hand." Shoving the container of dye back into her saddlebag, she mussed up her hair with some water. "However, a Northern squire and a runaway Lannister bride will never be allowed into the city without being short a few limbs." She saw Matthew's fists clench and unclench at that. "We're both traitors, remember that, Matt."

"Shouldn't we have gotten ready sooner?" _Enough with the questions, boy._

"We were in wolf territory; we were fine. But now...well, we're venturing into the lion's claws."

"What am I to do in the city, my lady?" His mouth was set into a firm, grim line.

"Don't be calling me 'my lady' any longer. We're men of the Watch now; it's Elias Hill to you." No doubt he had heard the stories of Elias floating around the camp. "And you'll be...Matthew Rivers. Acting as a bastard will be safer." She stretched her legs languidly. "So, ask me again. This time, properly."

Matthew blanched and swallowed thickly. "What am I supposed to do...Elias?"

"Leave the talking to me." She slipped on the black tunic. "Only speak when spoken to, and lie, if you must. Do not leave my side and wander off. Make sure you keep your sword close by at all times." Lannister smiled sweetly at him. "And don't do anything stupid."

* * *

The walls of the city came into view as they brought their horses to the top of the hill. Lyra squinted her eyes and saw gold cloaks and red cloaks, patrolling around the outskirts of the capitol. From on top of the hill, the knights and warriors looked like nothing but mere ants. "Come along, Rivers," she quipped, spurring Strider- her horse- down the hill. Matthew followed, close on her heels.

"This is your first time in the capitol, correct?" Lannister asked when they got back onto the road and slowed down to a trot. He nodded, tightly gripping the reins. "Good. Perhaps you'll learn a thing or two." _And so will I, perhaps_. "Also," she lowered her voice, "relax. These people can practically _smell _fear." She threw on her hood, strands of mud brown hair peeking out.

"You included, I'm assuming?" he joked, his eyes darting around nervously. Lyra chuckled and rode towards the city gates, anticipation bubbling up inside her. She heard Matt's horse's hooves clicking on the stone, relaxing her ever so slightly. Perhaps it was good that he came along; she realized that she wouldn't be able to handle going in alone, if she had gone with the original plans. _Thank the Seven for stubborn squires, I suppose_.

"Halt," a gold cloak guarding the gate commanded. "State your name and your purpose."

She cleared her throat and made her voice deeper. "Elias Hill, pleasure." She flashed him her best grin. "My companion is Matthew Rivers, and we come from the Wall on business from the Night's Watch." Her heart pounded loudly under her chest bindings.

"And what would that business be?" the gold cloak asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Recruiting," Lyra answered smoothly. "We're short of men these days, and King's Landing is crawling with the most prisoners. Any extra man will help-"

"We just had a recruiter last week," another guard interrupted. "Yoren, he called himself. Wiped our dungeons clean." _Well shit._

"Perhaps we could speak to the Hand?" Matthew spoke up, albeit quietly.

The first guard sighed. "Lord Tyrion is very busy now, and has probably had his fill of the pleas from the Watch." _Isn't Tywin supposed to be-_

_Oh, lovely. This will make everything much easier_.

"Lord Tyrion knows me," she told them, a slight smugness to her tone. "We became friends when he visited the Wall. I'm sure he'll listen to what I have to say."

The first guard opened his mouth to respond, but the second beat him to it. "He's holding court right now. If you hurry, perhaps you could get a word in." He opened the gates for them, the iron grinding and groaning in protest.

"Thank you, ser knight." She bowed as best as she could while on horseback. "I will be sure to pay you back in some way." _Perhaps with a stab to the belly if this goes wrong_.

Matthew followed her as they entered the city, the sun beating down on them. She hadn't been this hot in a long time. _What a lovely day to wear black_, she thought bitterly as her clothes stuck to her skin. She knew that Matt was having the same problem; she could hear his soft panting and heavy breathing.

Their mounts were taken to the stables, which were close by, much to Lyra's relief; she wanted to be out of there as quickly as possible, should something happen. As she and the squire walked towards the throne room, she prayed to the Seven and to the Old Gods that everything would go according to plan. _Then again, what did Ned Stark's gods do for him? Vicious cunts, they are; the whole lot of them_.

The huge doors to the throne room opened, she felt every eye land on her. Paranoia set in, and she was afraid that everyone could see through her disguise. They began to look away a moment later, putting Lyra's fears to rest.

"Everything will be fine," Matt murmured from her side, as if he was reading her mind. He briefly squeezed her hand, and she could feel the warmth even between his gloves and her own. _Or maybe that's just because it's as hot as the Red fucking Waste here._

"How do you know that?" she hissed back, stepping into the throne room.

His smile was coy. "You know what you're doing." He gently nudged her forward. "Now come on. The show must go on." Taking a shaky breath, Lyra nodded and the two made their way through the crowd.

On the Iron Throne sat her cousin, Tyrion Lannister, looking as bored and annoyed as ever. He shifted on the seat, which was no doubt terrible for his poor stunted legs. She felt pity towards the Imp, though he would be disappointed in her; he never liked to be looked down on solely because he was a dwarf.

The peasant the Hand was talking to scurried back into the crowd once he was promised a few men to help repair his house. "Will that be all?" Tyrion called, resting his cheek on his hand. Lyra saw him stifle a yawn, eliciting a snort from her; _way to be subtle, Tyrion_.

"My lord of Lannister," Lyra raised her voice, walking to the middle of the room, "may I have a word?" The lords, ladies and knights stepped aside to let her and Matthew by, their suspicious eyes following them every step of the way.

"I would like to know who I am speaking with, stranger." Her cousin steepled his fingers and watched her with a hint of amusement.

"Gladly, my lord." She threw off her hood and bowed deeply. Matt followed her lead, bowing his head in respect.

"Ah, Elias. I didn't think I'd see you again." He smiled innocently. "Who's your friend?"

"Matthew Rivers," the squire answered, then tacked on a quiet, "my lord."

"Pleasure," the dwarf quipped. "Now, lads, what brings you here?"

"Actually, my lord, I- _we_ were hoping to speak with you privately." There was a slight warning tone to her voice. Her hand rested casually on the hilt of her sword and she saw his mismatched eyes flicker to the weapon momentarily.

"Very well." Astonished whispers and murmurs echoed in the throne room; _what, a Sworn Brother and the Hand of the King can't be friends? _Her cousin ungracefully came down from the throne and waddled down the stairs. "Come along, then. I'll be sure that your horses are tended to." Matthew and Lyra bowed once more and followed him out.

The walk to the Tower of the Hand seemed to take an eternity. Lyra tried to avoid the questioning gazes and curious glances. She wondered if anyone suspected her true identity, but she had not seen a glimmer of recognition or realization in any eyes she met. _Then again, all of these people are liars. Some better than others, true, but many __**great**__ liars._

"Would you like some wine?" Tyrion asked them once the door to his chambers closed. He poured himself a glass and waited for their responses.

"We can't afford to be drunk," Lyra responded, putting her hand out to stop Matt from reaching out for a cup. "Thank you for the offer, my lord, but we're here on serious business."

"One cup can't hurt." Tyrion took a sip of his own, his lips quirked up in a tiny smirk.

"I have no thirst," she said, more firmly this time.

"Fair enough." Her cousin took a seat at the long table in the middle of his room. "Please, sit." When he saw Lyra's hesitance, he tilted his head in exasperation. "Elias, please, do not say that you have no interest in sitting because you've been on horseback for a few weeks."

Pointedly, she sat down and Matt did the same. "My lord, if I may be blunt, I did not come on here for business for the Watch."

"What did you come here for then?" He took another sip of his wine. "To say hello, perhaps? It has been awhile, and I'm sure it can get quite dull in that frozen tundra."

"I came here to broker a marriage."

He stared at her in shock for a few moments, before finally recovering. "The men of the Watch are not allowed to marry-"

"I'm not a man of the Watch; you know that as well as I do." _It's not every day you get to surprise Tyrion Lannister_. "I'm not here as Elias Hill; I'm here as Lyra Lannister."

The Imp's cheek twitched. "It's not safe for you to be here."

"I don't think it's very safe for _anyone _to be here, but that hasn't stopped people before." She shifted in her seat. "Is Lord Lefford still willing to marry his son to me?"

"You marrying a Lannister bannerman will not help things very much." He lifted the glass of wine to his lips. "Marrying a Northerner, however. _That _might do something. Because, technically, you're still on our side of the whole bloody mess."

"I'm a bannerman- er, banner_woman _to Robb Stark." Her cheeks flushed. "I'm not a Lannister anymore."

Tyrion's expression softened, the glass half-raised to his mouth, forgotten. "You marrying a Lannister bannerman will not help things very much, because Lord Lefford's son is dead."

"_Dead_?" she whispered, taken aback.

"Killed by Ryker Manston in the Whispering Wood. Though I do love him, Jaime is a man of many words, with not all of them being true."

"Obviously I still haven't learned how my family works."

He reached over and brushed her hair away from her face. "I'm sorry, sweetling."

She swatted his hand away, anger replacing the surprise. "Your brother lied to me," she spat. "Jaime said that he was still alive!"

"Lyra," Matt murmured, putting his hand over hers, "it's not Lord Tyrion's fault. Don't be mad at him."

"Thank you, Matthew," the dwarf said. "Now, Lyra, if you're so dead set on getting married, why not wed Jon Snow? You two got along well enough."

"It's Stark now," she gritted out. "Prince Jon Stark." She shook her head. "And he's betrothed to one of the Frey girls."

The Hand smirked and downed the rest of his wine. "A Lannister is worth ten of those Freys, and it can help end the war." He set the glass on the table. "Just think about it."

Sighing, Lyra held her head in her hands. _If only I could marry Jon. How much easier would that be? I wouldn't have to lie all the time to him_. Licking her lips, she croaked out, "Cousin, if it's all the same to you, I'll have that drink now."


	33. Chapter Thirty-Two

Hey! Sorry for the delay; I had a few projects, as always before the break.

Speaking of break, I'm not going to be here for the next week or so, so no updates then! D: However, I'll definitely write a bit on the road, and hopefully have a chapter ready for you guys by the time I come back!

So we finally have a Gisella POV chapter...I thought it would be an interesting little change.

Thanks to everyone who reads/subscribes/favourites and, most especially, reviews! You know, those are greatly appreciated... ;)

Enjoy! xoxo and have a good March break!

* * *

**_Gisella_**

_She saw the walls of a great castle looming over her. The castle frightened her, in a way; it seemed as if it had seen an uncountable number of years. She felt chilly air against her skin, and she finally realized that the castle must have been Winterfell; she recognized it from her books._

_ There was not a sound to be heard, and she felt very uneasy. Only something bad could happen from too much silence. The sky was darkening with every second, and she soon felt a raindrop fall onto her nose._

_She heard a faint rumbling from off in the distance. She was unable to pinpoint its location and she found herself whipping her head in all directions, trying to find the source of the noise. It grew steadily louder until she felt a sharp pain in her ears._

_Out of the corner of her eye, she saw thick foam tumbling and crashing down the hill. The rain was pelting down now, making it hard for her to see more than a foot in front of her. The wind threatened to shove her to the ground with every heavy gust. She felt frozen to the bone, the wind and rain caressing her bare skin. She wished she had had some clothes on, for she was now trembling violently with the cold. _

_The foam came down the hill and pooled around her ankles, gently splashing. With each wave, the impact became more intense, until she was staggering under the hits of the waves, which had grown to become ten feet tall. She found it hard to breathe as the waves quickly became higher and higher, stronger and more powerful._

_The salt water stung her eyes and burnt down her throat. She tried to thrash around and swim, to reach the surface, but with every movement, she was just brought down even lower. Her lungs were on fire, begging for air, for release. Blurriness in her vision soon turned to black spots, and then her sight was engulfed in complete darkness._

_Just as she thought she had reached the end, the point of no return, she was thrown back up to the surface. She sucked in deep breaths, tears streaming down her face. Her vision slowly returned, and when it did, she was faced with the sight of a broken Winterfell. The walls were cracked and torn apart, and the houses inside the castle grounds were completely destroyed._

_She tried to cry out for help, but when she opened her mouth to scream, she was pulled back under the waves. _

She woke up, panting, doused in a cold sweat. The thick furs and humid air did not seem to suffice, and she found herself trembling in her cot. With fumbling hands, she lit the oil lamp, the small light dimly illuminating her surroundings. Her vision was blurred and she frantically swiped at her eyes. _Tears won't help you, you git_.

Gisella paced around her room, the oil lamp still in her hand. The furs dragged behind her as she kept them wrapped around her shoulders, shivering under them. She wasn't sure what she had done to deserve the terrible powers of Warging and Greenseeing. Her uncle- who had been the only one to support her- had called it a privilege, and he tried to convince her that she was lucky. _Even if I believed in luck, I would not believe him_.

She replayed her dream over and over again in her mind, and willed it to be a normal dream. She hadn't had a green dream in quite awhile, and she had hoped that the streak would continue. But she was able to tell the difference between a normal one and a green one, and the harsh truth was sinking in. _You thought you could escape them by coming here...you've never been more wrong in your entire life._

Gisella poked her head out of the flaps of her tent; the sun was only beginning to rise, and she figured it would be a few more hours until daylight. She didn't want to wait here, in anxiousness, alone. She needed to talk to someone, _anyone_, who might be able to help her make sense of her dream.

She paced the length of her small tent, wringing her hands- a nervous habit she had picked up from her mother. _What does the sea have to do with Winterfell? The castle is leagues and leagues away from it..._

A part of her thought that perhaps her dream was nothing more than nonsense; she doubted that every dream she had was able to come true. She sat down on the edge of her bed and tried to cleanse her mind of the dream. _It is nothing but folly...simply your mind playing tricks on you. Just as Father had said. He was always right._

Gisella curled up on her side, gnawing her lip in thought. Her heart palpitated quickly in her chest, warmth rising on her skin, in that way it always did when she was nervous. _But was it right of him to send his only daughter away?_

After she broke her fast, she spotted Theon heading towards the stables. She almost laughed at the way he walked; he always swaggered, _strutted_, even. She twisted and bit her lips to keep from giggling, earning strange looks from the people who passed. _It's as if you Northerners do not have a sense of humor._

"Theon!" Gisella called, brushing and pushing past people, trying to catch up with her childhood friend. "Theon!" she called again after he didn't hear her. "You're such an idiot," she muttered under her breath.

She finally caught up to him as he was saddling his horse. "Mornin'," he quipped upon seeing her. She only shook her head, breathing heavily. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," Greyjoy teased, straightening the saddle on his mount's back.

"I need to talk to you," she said, getting straight to the point. She had no time for his teasing and his japes now; she had to talk to _someone _about the dream.

"Better make it fast," he replied, swinging up onto his horse. "I told Robb and Elira that I'd leave by first light." He pulled on his gloves and took the reins in hand.

"Leave?" Gisella echoed, furrowing her brow in confusion. "What do you mean _leave_? Where are you _going_?"

"To the Iron Isles!" He grinned widely, a gleam in his eye. "Robb needs ships if he has any hope of attacking King's Landing, and my father has a whole fleet."

She felt anger rising in her veins. Glaring at him, nose flaring, she ground out, "do you really think going back is the best option? You know how your father is-"

"You're just saying that because they sent you away!" he retorted, the mirth in his eyes gone. "You're bitter because you're a _freak _and they didn't want you anymore!"

"Like you're so different from me!" she spat, her neck and cheeks as red as her hair. "You were sent away, too! You're nothing but a hostage, a _prisoner_!" She felt hysterical now, as if she would burst into tears at any given moment. She was torn between climbing onto the horse and punching Theon in the face, or falling onto her knees to cry her eyes out.

"You little bitch!" Greyjoy shrieked. "Take that back!"

"Why should I?" she said haughtily, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's true, isn't it? You're the Starks' prisoner, however well they treat you."

He glared daggers at her, and she knew that if looks could kill, she'd be six feet under by now. "You'll see; my father will become the King of the Iron Islands, and me after him. And when I'm the king, I won't let you come back. I won't ever have to see you again."

Gisella stared at him incredulously. "_King_? Theon Greyjoy, you're out of your mind. He is no king, nor will he ever be."

"Robb agreed to name him King of the Iron Islands if he agreed to donate ships to our fleet." He didn't seem to be as angry anymore; her calling him a prisoner was merely a slap to the face, and once the initial sting of it was over, it didn't hurt so much afterwards.

"What happened to paying the Iron Price?" she inquired, quirking up an eyebrow. "You know what a firm believer your father is of that." All her life, she had been taught to not accept lands or titles or riches freely; you had to work for it and earn it. You had to _kill _for it.

"The Lannisters will bleed and beg for mercy at the hands of the Northerners and the Ironborn. We will earn the Iron Islands back by bringing death to the Lannisters." His speech sounded clipped and rehearsed, as if he had practiced it a thousand times. _Is that what you do when you're alone, Lord Greyjoy? Rehearse your little songs from Robb? That's all you are now, isn't it…his little bird._

"And you think your father will really give you the ships? So you can help your _captors_?" Theon's horse whinnied and nickered impatiently, kicking at the dirt. _Shut up, you big lug. Your stupid master and I have unfinished business._

"He will. I know he will." The ward tossed his hair away from his face and looked around the stables. "There will be negotiations, of course- of that I am sure. But I'll get the ships."

"Whatever the cost?" the redhead pressed. "Whatever your father may ask of you, you will do it?"

Theon's jaw clenched, but he nodded nonetheless. "Whatever the cost, and wherever I must go to get them." He smirked a little, the familiar light coming back to his grey-green eyes. "And I'll kill anyone I have to."

The dream flooded back into her mind and she found it hard to breathe. Her heart was lodged in her throat, and her mouth was unbearably parched and dry. All the blood drained from her face and she felt herself falling, with Theon's faint calls of her name wafting by her ears.

_The Ironborn will take Winterfell…the sea will destroy it…_

She awoke with a gasp, cold sweat dampening her hair. She was under furs and felt extremely restricted; she thrashed around, whimpering softly. She wasn't sure where she was, and the last thing she remembered was arguing with Theon.

Her head pounded painfully when she tried to sit up, splitting pain shooting down her neck. Gisella groaned and buried her face in her arms, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. Behind her eyelids, she saw the waves crashing into the castle. The sound of the waves was as clear and loud as if she were actually there.

"Oh, good, you're awake," a voice murmured. The redhead raised her head ever so slightly and opened an eye to determine the identity of the intruder. She gasped when she met the eyes of Queen Elira Stark, and scrambled to get to her feet.

"Y-Your Gr-race," she stammered, fumbling with the furs. "I-I'm so s-sorry-" She was glad she was at least in her own tent; she would feel endless embarrassment if she was in the queen's own.

"There's no need for that," Elira chastised gently, smiling softly. "It's fine, really. I'm just glad you're alright. Theon said you fainted so suddenly." She approached Gisella, her steps slow but purposeful. "How are you feeling?" she asked, her hazel eyes boring into the blue ones of Gisella.

"A-a bit thirsty, Your Grace," the redhead croaked out, blushing under the queen's stare. Elira instantly poured her a glass of water and gave it to her. "What happened?" Gisella asked after a long gulp of the water.

The brunette shrugged. "Theon brought you here after you blacked out, but he left right after. He wanted to get an early start for the long ride, he said." She smiled; she was obviously fond of her friend, Lord Greyjoy. "I'm sorry you weren't able to say goodbye to him."

"We said quite enough, I'm sure," Gisella gritted out. She finished her glass of water, then threw off the furs. "Thank you for your kindness, Your Grace." She managed a small curtsy, trying to ignore the throbbing pain. "I'm afraid I have something to do." She bustled around her tent, picking up her worn leather satchel and slipping it on her shoulder.

"Where are you going?" Elira asked, watching her with wide eyes as she hurried around the room.

Gisella's lips curled into a small smirk. "Kraken hunting." She slung her quiver onto her back and held her bow in her arms. She saw the look of horror on the queen's face, but was quick to elaborate; "I won't hurt him, I promise. It's just that…I know something bad will happen if I let him go."

Before Elira got a chance to respond, the redhead dashed past her and hurried out of the tent. "Forgive me, Your Grace!" she hollered over her shoulder, her boots digging into the grass and dirt as she sprinted towards the stables.

_Theon Greyjoy, I will not sit by and let you make the worst mistake of your life_.


	34. Chapter Thirty-Three

Hello all! :D I'm sorry I wasn't able to update sooner...I just got back from NYC a couple days ago. I tried to write this in the quickest amount of time as I could, and finally, we have another chapter! :)

I have a new story in the works...it probably should be up later today. It will be in the 'A Song of Ice and Fire' category, as it features more characters from the books. Or, you can always just check my profile c:

I think that's it! More AUness is in store for you here, so I hope you guys enjoy the surprise.

Thanks to everyone who reads/faves/subscribes and, especially, reviews! Every little thing is appreciated :)

Enjoy! xoxo

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**_Lyra_**

She walked back from Tyrion's chambers with Matthew in tow, tension in the air. They had decided to leave the castle grounds and look for a cheap inn to stay at for the night. They would leave at first light; she knew that if they stayed here a moment longer, trouble would follow.

They headed to the stables and retrieved their horses, who were panting in the humid air. "Poor boys- you're not used to this terrible heat, hmm?" Lyra stroked Strider's mane and fixed the saddle. She also took a small peek at the bag of weapons she'd brought; crossbow, bow, arrow quiver, dagger, a second dagger... "Good. Everything seems to be here," she murmured to herself. Matthew was annoyed with her constant double and triple checks, but you could never be too sure.

"Elias, are you done?" the squire asked from atop his horse; she could hear the roll of his eyes in his voice. "I don't know about you, but I'm about to suffocate from the heat."

The girl swung up onto her mount, sticking her tongue out at Matthew. "You're just wasting air by talking, lad." Grinning, she spurred the horse and rode out of the stables. It didn't feel as hot when they were on horseback, with a slight breeze brushing by. Still, she wanted nothing more than a cold bath once they got to the inn.

"Matt, hurry up!" she called, stopping in the middle of the yard. The lad grumbled something and joined her- _finally, dammit_-, albeit at a slow pace. She tossed a coin at him, which he caught and fumbled for. "We'll buy two separate rooms."

"Why?"

She grinned, baring her teeth. "Matthew, my friend, we're buying you a woman for the night." She laughed at the fierce blush on his cheeks as he fingered the coin. "I think you've earned it! Really, I do!" She loved teasing the lad; it was nice to finally have a younger brother. She'd never be able to get away with any of these things with her younger sister; she was much too ladylike, too boring.

Lyra looked around the courtyard while they trotted through, nodding and smiling at servants. She knew that most of them- if not all- were spies of some sort. It was why she hated the city. Too many secrets, and too many people knew them.

Her breath caught in her throat when she caught her eyes. Green eyes, just like hers, although much more intimidating. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears and she thought she would faint and fall off her horse.

"Elias?" Matthew's voice brought her out of the trance. "Are you alright?"

"Hmm? O-oh, yes. Swell." She tore her gaze away from Cersei's, her hands trembling. _She couldn't have recognized me...could she?_ The last time her cousin saw her, she had been a young girl. And here...well, here, hell, she was a man of the Night's Watch. _Let us hope it was only the heat making me imagine her there_.

"Elias, are we-"

"You know, Matthew, I think it's best that we leave the city." She locked eyes with the lad, and hoped that he was able to realize that there was trouble afoot. "_Now_."

He looked around them, and she could see the gears turning in his brain. _Halfwit_. "I-I suppose it _is _a long trip back to the Wall…" _Could you make it any more obvious?_

"Very. Now, let's get going." She spurred her horse and Matthew did the same. They quickly rode out of the castle grounds, looking over their shoulders to make sure they weren't being followed. _Although my cousin is the more subtle type_.

The guards let them pass, which eased her mind a little. _You're overreacting. She probably didn't even know it was you_. But there was still that slight chance…

"Matthew, ride hard. We have to be as far as possible by nightfall." She regretted not saying goodbye to Tyrion, and there was still that matter with the gloves they had to deal with… _What do you still need gloves for in King's Landing?_

The horses sprinted away from the capitol, leaving the city behind until it was merely a dot on the horizon. They would not stop riding until they were leagues and leagues away from King's Landing- stopping was far too risky.

"I hope you're comfortable on your saddle," Lyra told him, the wind dancing through her short scraggly locks. "You'll be on it for days."

They rode hard for four days, until both of them were about to collapse from hunger and exhaustion. They hadn't had a warm meal in days, only pausing to eat some dry rations that made their tongues stick to the roof of their mouths. _By gods, and I thought food at the Wall was bad…_ She thought back to the feast at Winterfell, with the onion pies and lamb in mushroom sauce…her stomach growled loudly at the idea of a cooked meal.

"Lyra," Matt whispered, bringing his horse closer to hers. "I think there's a camp up ahead." He nodded to a clearing a short ways away, and sure enough, she saw a fire going, smoke high in the air.

"It's probably just a bunch of robbers," she said, dismissing him. Her stomach growled once more when the smell of cooked meat wafted by her nose. "Robbers, or Lannister men," she concluded, more to assure herself than the squire. _Fuck, what I'd give for a warm meal…_

"Lyra," he whispered again, pointing at one of the tents pitched up. "The banner, look at it!"

She squinted her eyes and shook her head. "It's nothing. All black." Perhaps there was a sigil, but it was getting dark out, making it hard to see. She wasn't sure what he was getting at-

_Oh. Fuck_.

"Night's Watch!" she breathed, a hint of glee in her voice. She felt like a young girl again, on the morning of her nameday, waiting to rush down and see the presents she had received. "Well, come on, what are you waiting for?" With a smile plastered on her face, she rode towards the small camp.

"Who goes there?" a gruff voice demanded- she recognized it to be Yoren. She'd only spoken to him a couple of times at Castle Black, and she wouldn't be surprised if he didn't remember her. _I'm not very memorable, in the first place_.

"Elias Hill. Or Lyra, whichever you prefer." She paused, knowing that any name she used would be used against her, somehow. _A deserter or lion scum_. "My companion Matthew Rivers and I are friends to the Watch."

Yoren took a few steps towards them, studying them intently. "Come down from your horses. There's some meat and mead left, if you'd like." Lyra and Matthew obliged, swinging down from their mounts. Lannister felt Yoren's eyes burning into her. "Aye, I remember you. You and the Stark bastard were traded for the hundred men."

She nodded and kept her eyes down. "We were, ser."

"Then what are you still doing in Night's Watch garb?"

She hesitated, shifting her weight from one foot to another. "A guise, ser."

He laughed suddenly, causing Lyra to jolt in shock. "A clever one, I'll give you that. Who the fuck cares about men of the Watch nowadays?" He put his arm around her shoulders and led her to the fire. Matthew followed closely behind, his boots crunching loudly on the fallen leaves and twigs.

She and the squire sat down next to eat other near the fire. A glass of watered down ale was shoved into each of their hands, along with a bowl of bread and meat. It was tasteless, but it was warm and filled her up nonetheless.

"You're welcome to stay the night, if you must," Yoren told them, downing another cup of ale. "I doubt you're going all the way up north like we are, though."

"Sadly, we're not." She inwardly snorted; _sure, __**sadly**__. Why would I want to go back to the Wall? _"Thank you for your hospitality, ser." Matthew pitched in a "thank you", his mouth full of bread.

Yoren shrugged. "It's just a forest. Anyone is allowed to use it." He started to put out the fire, quietly humming a familiar tune. "Pick a spot to rest, although one patch of grass probably isn't comfier than another." He smirked a bit, brushing his hands on his tunic.

Lyra and Matthew finished their meals and found a spot near the edge of the camp. They lay down next to each other, staring up at the stars. She yawned and looked over to Matthew. "You try and touch me, and you'll be Matt the Eunuch."

He swallowed audibly and rolled away from her. "Understood, my lady." She bit her lip to keep from laughing; he was so easy to tease.

Although she was tired, she found it hard to sleep. She leaned up on her elbows and looked around her; the camp was deadly quiet. She saw a small lad who was not yet sleeping; he was running a cloth up and down his sword. A skinny thing, just like him.

"Hey, lad," Lyra whispered, crawling on her elbows to get to him. She could already hear Matthew snoring, an annoying habit which she'd had to deal with whenever she travelled with him. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"I can't sleep," he replied, his eyes still focused on the sword.

"You could try," Lannister suggested, sitting up. She leaned on the thick tree next to the boy and watched as he cleaned his sword- _it was probably never bloody to begin with. He can't be more than, what, ten? _"That's a nice sword," she commented, her head lolling against the trunk.

"It's mine," he shot back, finally looking up from the weapon to meet Lyra's gaze. Even in the dark, Lyra could make out the bright grey eyes. She knew those eyes anywhere. _He's not even a __**he**__. By the gods, is this-_

"Lad, what's your name?" she asked slowly.

"Arry." _Bullocks_.

"Where'd you get that sword, Arry?"

The little girl hesitated and tore her eyes away from Lyra's. "It was a gift." Lyra remembered the story Jon had told her, about how he gave his younger sister a sword before he left for the Wall. _It was skinny_, he had said, _and so was she. I thought it was a good fit_.

Lyra gently took the sword out of the girl's hands and set it down between them. "I want you to look at me. There's no need to be afraid. Just look at me." The girl's breath hitched, but she met the Lannister's eyes nonetheless. "Gods, but you look like him," Lyra whispered, more to herself than to the girl.

"Like who?" she asked, furrowing her brow.

"Like your brother. Jon."

"How do you know him?" she demanded. _I'm in love with him. I want to marry him and spend the rest of my days with him and have little lions and little wolves with him_.

"Our paths crossed a few times," she said instead. "You're a princess, you know."

"A princess?"

"Princess Arya Stark of Winterfell." Lannister smiled at Arya. "Robb's a king now. King in the North."

The Stark girl scrutinized her, her lips twisted in concentration. "Who are you?"

She sucked in a deep breath through her nose. _The presence of a Lannister won't be assuring for her, no doubt_. "Lyra. Lyra Hill. I don't really have a last name."

"That's sad." Arya frowned. "Do you have a family?"

She sighed and shook her head. She felt terrible lying through her teeth, but it was the only way at this point. _The truth will come later, little wolf, I promise_. "No, but I can help you get you back to yours."

Arya gasped. "How?"

"See that snoring oaf over there?" She nodded towards Matthew. "He's Queen Elira's squire. And I'm her sworn shield."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"I had some business in King's Landing. Didn't work out too well. I'll tell you some other time." She waved her hand, dismissing the subject. "We'll leave tomorrow morning. I'll take you to Robb and Jon and Elira."

Arya opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. She opened it again and her voice was so quiet, Lyra barely heard it. "Can we bring Gendry?"

"Who's Gendry, sweet?"

"My friend." The princess pointed to one of the men sleeping nearby. A finely crafted helm lay next to him, dimly shining in the dark. "They call him The Bull. He said he spoke to my father before he died." The girl shrugged. "Maybe he knows something."

Lyra thought about it; travelling with Arya would be dangerous, seeing as they were still in Lannister territory. Gendry looked big enough, and she figured if he had a helm, he must be a warrior. _Or a blacksmith_. She counted the numbers in her head over and over again, and thought of all the different outcomes. Most of them ended with her dying to let Matthew, Gendry and Arya escape. _As long as the princess gets out of here…_

"Alright. We'll take him." Arya surprised her by wrapping her in a tight hug. Lyra stroked the girl's matted hair, a small smile on her face. "We're alike, you and I. We both dressed as boys to go to the Watch."

Arya craned her neck to look at her. "You went to the Watch?"

"It's where I met Jon." She gently lay the princess down and took a seat beside her. "Go to bed, sweetling. We have a long day ahead of us."


	35. Chapter Thirty-Four

Hey guys! Sorry for the wait!

This chapter probably ends at a pretty shitty place, but it ended up being longer than it should have been because I got caught up with Jon and Catelyn feels...so Stannis and Davos are appearing in the next Jon chapter!

I put out a new story in the A Song of Ice and Fire category...it's called _Cold Gin, Hot Piano_, and basically it's a 1920's crime/drama/mob AU fic. Check it out! :D

Thanks to everyone who reads/subscribes/faves aaand reviews! Every little thing is greatly appreciated.

Enjoy! xoxo

* * *

_**Jon**_

Renly Baratheon's camp came into view in the far distance. Even from here, Jon and Catelyn were able to see the waving banners and flags with the crowned Baratheon stag, Tyrell roses and many more. A newfound sense of determination pumped through Jon's blood- he knew their negotiations _had _to succeed. An army of a hundred-thousand…even if Stannis did not agree to their terms, there was still a chance of them getting Renly's men. Jon knew that it was the thing he and the other Northerners required most. He couldn't let them down. _Or Robb_.

Jon and Catelyn had been riding on horseback for more than a week now, and there had always been tension in the air, something left unsaid. She had taken up his offer to let him escort her to the edges of Renly's camp, albeit reluctantly. He wasn't sure what made him offer that; perhaps he was thinking of Robb and his other siblings, and how they would react if something happened to her. Perhaps he felt as if it was a debt he owed his father, to protect his lady wife when Eddard could not. Or perhaps it was because she was the closest thing he had to a mother.

He watched as Catelyn took in the sight of the camp. He could see her hands trembling slightly while gripping the reins, but apart from that, her composure seemed completely in check. "I suppose this is it, my lady," he muttered. He tore his eyes away from her when she turned to look at him; he always felt uneasy when under her scrutiny. He was never enough for her, and she always seemed to be constantly judging him. He was always able to tell with one look into her blue eyes.

"We will see each other soon." Her words almost sounded like a promise to him. He felt like a young child again, one who constantly sought Lady Catelyn's approval. He grew to acknowledge and accept the fact that she would never care for him as she did for her own children. He made a shell so he would not feel disappointed whenever she would glare at him when he sat with her children, or when he spoke to her husband. But perhaps under the walls he built, he was still that same child, one who wanted nothing more than to be loved by his father's wife.

"I can only hope so, my lady." Despite his relationship with her being one of walking on eggshells, he was reluctant to part ways with her. He grew up always being close to her presence- though it was not entirely welcoming-, and he couldn't help but feel strange at the idea of being separated from her. Mayhaps it was because nothing was ever resolved between them and the thought of them never seeing each other without sorting things out nibbled at the back of his mind. If she were to die- _gods forbid it_-, he would never forgive himself.

"I know we will." For once, her expression and eyes were soft as she studied him. "You've never let Robb down before." Jon felt unshed tears burning at the back of his eyes, and all he could do was swallow thickly and nod. She may not have loved him or cared for him like she did her own children, but he could see the grudging respect that he gained over the past few moons. The progress was enough to light a flicker of hope inside of him.

"Thank you, my lady," he croaked, his voice cracking. His throat was dry and his eyes wet at her compliment. "Good luck, and I hope to see you soon." His voice sounded foreign in his ears. A silent tear fell when Cat reached out and squeezed his hand. The only other time she had given any gesture of affection was when he was six and had scraped his knee on the stone floor after chasing Theon and Robb around in a game of knights and maidens. His father was out for a hunt with a few of his men, and Catelyn had been the only person around. She scooped him up in her arms and brought him to Maester Luwin. She sat next to him while Luwin patched up his wound and even walked him back to his chambers. Before she left, she ruffled his hair and pressed a small kiss to the top of his head.

But he was a child no longer and Lady Catelyn was not by his side anymore. With a heavy heart, he watched as she rode towards Renly's camp. Ghost seemed to stare after her as well, a strange sense of sadness in his bright red eyes.

Jon felt the sudden need to pray; for the negotiations to go well, for Robb's army to win any battles, for Catelyn's safety. As he brought his horse around, he thought back to Lyra. She spat upon the gods and praying; _vicious cunts_, she once told him. It brought a tiny smile to his face, a small spark of joy in these otherwise bleak times.

No matter what she said, he prayed as he rode towards Stannis' camp. He even slipped a prayer in there for her safe return, and another for her having her own happy ending. He wondered if her own negotiations had gone as planned. He found it hard to imagine Lyra Lannister of all people being a married woman…no, it was just hard for him to imagine her being married to someone other than him.

With a sigh, he urged his mount to go faster. Ghost ran beside him and Jon focused on the noise of the direwolf's paws, along with the horse hooves. Anything to get his mind off Lyra. _No use dwelling on what could have been…_

* * *

By the time Jon and Ghost arrived at Stannis Baratheon's camp, it was already getting dark out. He saw large torches burning brightly, and he could faintly make out Stannis' personalized sigil waving on the banners and flags. He didn't know much about the Red God- he was raised with the Old Gods of the North, and there wasn't even much about Him in the books. Jon thought that most religions were too odd and restraining for his liking; too many rules. _Great, you're even starting to __**sound**__ like Lyra. _

Ghost's ears pricked up and he froze in place, his paws digging into the ground. "What's wrong, boy?" Jon murmured, stopping his horse next to the direwolf. "Smell something?" Jon couldn't see anything around him- perhaps the wolf just wasn't used to the abundance of smoke in the air.

They continued to approach the camp, though Ghost was much more wary this time around. The direwolf would freeze at any slight movement or sound, more so the closer they got to the camp. Jon wasn't sure what could be disturbing the wolf so, but he figured that he would find out once they reached the camp. His hands were clammy in his gloves and he swallowed thickly; could there be something dangerous? He almost considered turning back and joining Lady Catelyn at Renly's camp.

"Who goes there?" the captain of the guard called, readying his weapon. The rest of the troops in the line followed suit, their eyes locked on Jon as he rode up to the edge of the camp. He saw the fox of House Florent on a few of their doublets, and the fiery stag of Stannis on others'.

"Prince Jon Stark, in the stead of my brother, King Robb," he replied, his grip tightening on the reins. The soldiers only held their weapons higher. "I am here on peaceful terms. I only wish to speak to speak to Lord Stannis for negotiations."

"_King _Stannis," the captain corrected, sneering. _Has he won the Iron Throne yet? Does everyone in Westeros fall to their knees for him?_

"My mistake. Apologies, ser," he said instead. He looked around him; the camp was rather small. He wondered how many men Stannis had. He doubted it could match Robb's twenty thousand, which- in actuality- was measly compared to Renly's hundred thousand. "May I speak to your king?"

"He is your king as well, Prince Stark," the captain shot back, lowering his weapon. "He is the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms." _Six Kingdoms, now. The North is independent._

"Precisely why I'm here, ser." Jon cleared his throat, shifting in the saddle. "We wish to make an alliance that would benefit us both." His patience was beginning to wear thin. "May I speak with him?"

The captain of the guard opened his mouth to respond, but was beat to it. "Ser, what is going on here?" Jon searched for the source of the voice and his eyes locked on a woman, who must have been a few years younger than Lady Catelyn. Her dress was a dark red, which matched her hair and lips. Jon thought for a moment, and decided she must be the Red Woman. He'd heard tales about sorceresses like her, with magic from the Shadow Lands of Asshai.

The captain of the guard eyed the Red Woman dubiously. "Jon Stark has been sent as an envoy. He wishes to speak to King Stannis-"

"Then what is he still doing waiting here?" She glanced up and met his gaze; Jon felt his heart stop in his chest. Her eyes were just as red as her dress and they stared into his own. He felt as if she was looking into him and was able to see his every thought and emotion. _Can this one smell and see fear, too?_

"We received orders to admit no one, my lady," the captain explained, a nervous edge to his voice. "King Stannis has more important things to deal with-"

"He is a prince, therefore he shall be treated as a prince." Even though she was not on horseback, she still seemed to tower above everyone with her mere presence. Jon was instantly frightened of this woman; if the rumors were true, he wondered just what terrible atrocities she was capable of making with her magic. He did not want to find out.

"As you wish, my lady." The captain of the guard bowed deeply, his voice shaking. "Apologies, my lady." He looked back to Jon, anger flashing in his eyes. "Forgive me, Prince Jon."

Jon was speechless for a moment, before he remembered his courtesies. "No apology is needed, ser." _Who __**is**__ this woman, and why is she so set on helping me?_

The Red Woman smiled at him, her lips curled upwards in a feline way. It sent a shudder up his spine, as if she knew a secret he did not. Ghost was staying closer to Jon's side than usual, glaring and snarling at the sorceress. _Was __**she**__ the reason why Ghost was so scared? _The Red Woman's smile only widened when Ghost hopped into a pouncing position. She reached out and patted his head, and the direwolf uttered a small whine, though he did not move away. "Come along, Jon Stark. King Stannis will hear what you must say."


	36. Chapter Thirty-Five

Hullo! :) Short-ish update to keep you guys going. I'm going away next weekend so hopefully I can get an update out before then.

Sorry if this chapter's a bit messy...I'm really running low on energy and being sick doesn't help much.

Thanks to everyone who reads/subscribes/faves and, especially, reviews! xoxo

Enjoy!

* * *

_**Elira**_

She figured it must have been close to dawn when Ned started to cry. She was quick to distinguish the cries of her children: Lyanna's was much higher-pitched, and Ned's was twice as loud. Then again, Ned was more likely out of the two babes to begin crying and screaming at four in the morn.

Usually, Ned would tire himself out within a few moments, but he was persistent tonight. The young queen rolled over, groaning. "Robb," she mumbled, her voice thick with fatigue. "Wake up." Elira nudged her husband's shoulder, her movements slow and groggy. Robb only grunted something and turned away from her, his back towards her.

She was surprised that he wasn't able to hear their son's cries, but perhaps he did and was too exhausted to acknowledge them. He barely slept anymore lately; the burden of being the king was getting to him, she knew. She thought she saw him grow skinnier and skinnier every day, but mayhaps that was just her paranoia and worry for her husband setting in. She decided she would need to get a third-party opinion; Jon or Theon when they came back, maybe.

"Robb," Elle said again, a bit louder this time to make herself heard over Ned's cries.

"What?" Robb finally replied, looking at her from over his shoulder.

She put on her sweetest smile. "It's your turn." She nodded towards the crib a few paces away from their shared bed. It was an agreement they had made: one of them would see to the twins, and the next time, it would be the other. It was fair, they thought, and it worked for them.

Elira smiled fondly at the sight in front of her; Robb, with his disheveled hair from sleep, was cradling Ned, who quieted down instantly after his father picked him up. Robb would often talk and whisper to the babes, just as he had done when they were still in her belly. Robb murmured something to Ned- who was about to fall asleep-, then looked over at Elira, a small smirk on his face.

"I hope you're not talking bad about me," she teased, propping herself up on the pillows.

He put on a look of mock-horror. "Oh, Your Grace, _never_. I'd _never_ insult my queen." His face broke into a grin, his charade vanishing. He planted a kiss to the top of Ned's head and put the babe back into the crib next to his sister.

"Come here," Elle mumbled, holding her arms open. As unpleasant as being woken up before the day started was, she couldn't help but have an odd fondness for it. Robb was more likely to stay up and talk to her after already being woken up. They weren't able to spend that much time with each other during the day, with both of them having to do their duties.

"Morning," Robb whispered, pressing a kiss to her hair.

She furrowed her brow. "_Morning_?" In truth, she did not much like the sound of that; it meant that they were closer to another day of war and another day of losses. She would give anything to spend even one sole day with Robb like they used to at Winterfell. She longed for home, longed for the day where her children could live in a world without war. There was always that constant fear at the back of her mind of her children growing up without a father.

"Might as well be," he replied, crawling back into bed with her. "A couple more hours until we're roused to do our royal duties." He rolled onto his side to look at her, his fingers running through her tangled hair.

"Bugger the duties," she breathed, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Just one day, hmm? One day, just you and me." Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she pulled the furs up to her chin. "At the hot springs in Winterfell, maybe. Or the godswood." Her smile widened upon remembering the time they spent there. _A lifetime ago, all of it_.

The young king smiled sadly. "What I would give for that, my love."

She sighed and buried her face in the crook of his neck. "I can't even remember what they look like," she whispered, biting the inside of her cheek to hold in the sudden wave of tears that threatened to escape. "Arabelle, Olyver…even Flora and Emont." The metallic taste of blood flooded into her mouth. "Even my mother." She looked up at her husband, her vision blurred from the immobile tears. "I can't help but think that we'll never see them again."

Before her husband got the chance to respond, one of the guards poked his head inside their tent. Elira almost laughed at the thought of what would happen if the guard caught her and Robb in a compromising position. The guard took a step into the tent. "My king, my queen." The young knight bowed in respect. "I apologize for the early hour, but there is someone who wishes to see you."

Robb took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose. "Give us a moment to dress, please, ser." The guard nodded and slipped out of the tent, giving them privacy. Over her nightgown, Elira pulled on the same dress she wore the day before and left her feet bare. She combed through her hair, knotted from sleep, while Robb pinned his cloak over his rumpled tunic. _How royal we must look now_, she thought sarcastically. _Blame the visitor. What could be so important at four in the morning?_

"Send him in," Robb and Elira called in harmony, standing side by side.

"It's a _her_, actually," the familiar voice teased. The source of the voice stepped into the tent, a wide grin on her face. "I've had it being called a man. Happens too often." Elira rushed over and hugged Lyra tightly, glad for her friend's return.

"It's been far too long," Elle said. They just needed Jon and Theon, and then the whole gang would be back together again.

Robb visibly relaxed upon seeing Lyra. "How were the negotiations, my lady?"

Lyra winced and slipped out of Elira's embrace. "Not very successful. I'd appreciate it if we could talk about it some other time, Your Grace." A smile found its way onto her lips. "However, I _did _get something out of it, in a way." Her eyes sparkled with mirth, and Elira was instantly frustrated at her friend's cryptic tone.

"Care to explain?" Elle pressed, tapping her foot impatiently under the long skirts of her dress. She was also confused as to why Matthew was not with Lyra; the squire was sent to accompany her…she hoped he wasn't injured, killed or taken captive.

Lyra's grin widened until her face looked as if it would split in two. "Just one moment, Your Grace." She bounded out of the tent, humming a song that Elira recognized to be 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair'. _Gods, what's gotten into her?_

"Do you think we should be worried?" Robb asked quietly, an eyebrow raised. Elira was about to respond, but Lyra came back a moment later, with Matthew in tow.

"King Robb, Queen Elira," Lyra began, bouncing excitedly on her heels, "may we present the lost princess." She and Matthew stepped aside and Robb was almost knocked over as little Arya Stark ran to him, jumping into his arms.

The girl's hair was matted, greasy and cropped to her chin. The skinny sword Jon had given her a lifetime ago hung from the loose belt around her waist. Gone were her gowns, boys' loose and tattered rags taking their place. Her skin was caked with filth and sweat from travelling, but Elira and Robb were too ecstatic to see Arya to care. Tears, kisses, hugs and laughs were shared between the three, with Lyra and Matthew proudly looking on.

"Where did you find her?" Elira asked in awe, kneeling in front of Arya so she was at eye-level with the girl.

"She was travelling with Yoren's camp," Matthew explained, leaning against one of the chairs. "They were on their way to the Wall, but they were going to drop the princess off in Winterfell along the way." He shrugged a shoulder. "There's a bit more to say, but we'll wait until later on."

"You've been on quite an adventure, haven't you, Arya?" Robb murmured, ruffling his younger sister's hair. "Say, where's Nymeria?"

Arya's face fell. "I had to throw rocks at her to send her away. The queen was going to have her killed!"

Elira frowned. "And why is that?"

Arya's lips curled into a tiny, impish smile. "She bit Joffrey on the arm." A small giggle escaped. "He cried, and I threw his sword in the river! You should have seen it!" Her smile disappeared once more. "I still miss Nymeria. I hope she's alright."

"She's a trooper, like you," Elira said, squeezing the girl's shoulders. "She'll find her way back, I know she will. Just like you came back to us."

Arya's eyes caught sight of the crib. "A baby!" she gasped, dashing over to it. She looked through the spacing between the thin columns of wood. Another gasp. "_Two _babies!"

Elira hushed her and combed her fingers through the girl's hair. "Shh, you don't want to wake them." She didn't want either of them to start crying again. "You'll have plenty of time to play with them during the day, I promise."

"How is Sansa?" Robb asked, joining Elira and Arya in front of the crib.

"The queen still has her, but she's not hurt," Arya informed him. "I even miss _Sansa_." She looked around at the four others. "We'll get her back, won't we?" The hope and longing in Arya's grey eyes caused Elle's chest to seize up with emotion.

"Of course we will," the young king assured her. "And then we'll all go home."


	37. Chapter Thirty-Six

**_Hi! How did everyone like the season premiere? :D I know I loved it!_**

**_Sorry I wasn't able to get this out before I left, like I had promised. I still hope you guys like it!_**

**_I hope everyone had a happy Easter and happy Passover. _**

**_Enjoy! xoxo_**

* * *

**_Gisella_**

_She could hear the __**clop **__**clop**__ping of horse hooves as they approached the inn. The air was damp and humid, smelling of rain, although she was not sure if it had already rained or if it would happen soon. He turned her towards the stables and they stepped off the narrow road. The mud and grass felt refreshing against her hooves and the slight breeze was welcome._

_ Once they reached the stables, he put her in an empty stall, tying the reins to a hook on the wall. He left the bow and arrow quiver across her back, as well as his trunk with what she assumed was his spare clothes. He told her to stay put, but how she was supposed to leave in the first place if she was tied up?_

_ She looked around, trying to find a clue as to where he had brought her. There were only a couple others horses in the stables, and there were no carts or wagons outside the inn. She supposed it was a good thing that they were in a quiet and near-empty place. She didn't want them to run into trouble._

_The odor of horse shit was strong and putrid, although it wasn't as bad when she was in a horse's body (thankfully she was, otherwise, she was certain that she would throw up on the spot). The scent of hay in the trough made her stomach rumble, but she would have plenty of time to eat later (and preferably in her own body, with some food she was actually fond of). She had to find out where she was before she did anything else. _

_The inn seemed familiar to her; she felt like she should know what it was. Next to the river, there was a tiny dock, but none of the rowboats and rafts had any sigils on their flags. Even the horses did not have sigils on their saddles. Either this inn was full of outlaws, lowborns and sellswords, or none of them wanted to be noticed, just like Theon. She figured it was the latter; when you bear a sigil, you can never be sure as to where you'll be safe._

_The sun was beginning to set. She didn't have much time until it would be too dark to look for clues. She pulled against the reins, trying to take a few steps forward to get a better view of the inn. She managed to poke her head through the window on the stall door and her eyes scanned the area. She caught sight of the inn's sign, triumph swelling up inside of her._

_She'd seen the sign in books before, and she knew the story that went along with it well. According to legend, this was the spot where Torrhen Stark, the last King in the North- besides Robb, of course-, knelt to Aegon the Conqueror. That was three hundred years ago, something that changed history, and all it got was this lousy, crumbling building. The Inn of the Kneeling Man._

* * *

Gisella got to the Inn of the Kneeling Man in the bright early hours of the morn. She was only a couple of hours behind Theon, and she assumed he would still be sleeping. She slung her arrow quiver over her back, her bow hanging off of her shoulder. She swung down from her horse, her palms sweating underneath the leather gloves. _This is it_.

She pushed the door to the inn open, the wood creaking loudly. The common room was empty and she let out a small sigh of relief. Even the innkeeper was not there, making her job that much easier. _Up the stairs, and there I'll find my kraken…hopefully_.

The longsword on her hip knocked against her knees every time she climbed a stair. She kept a hand on the hilt of the sword, her eyes darting warily about. She expected someone to pop out of the walls, or slide down the staircase and run her right through. On the next step, she lost her balance, grabbing the rail at the last second to hold herself up. Gisella was certain that her foot would fall through the rotten wood; each stair was more unstable and rickety than the last. _Wouldn't that be something…death by stairs_.

Upstairs, she was faced with several doors, each leading to a guest room. She heard no noise whatsoever from any of the rooms, which only made her doubts grow. What if he had left already? What if he had never stayed for the night, and only came in for a cup of ale? _Too slimy, these damn krakens are…they slip right through your fingers_.

A door not two feet away from her swung open, and in the blink of an eye, Gisella had strung an arrow and was pointing it at the person's neck. The hood over her brow obscured her vision a tad, but from the way he took a sharp intake of breath, she knew her aim was right on target. "You're coming with me, or I swear, this arrow is going right through your fucking neck."

Theon's lips twisted into a snarl. "You're bluffing." His hand groped around for his sword, but through the open door, she could see that it was leaning against the bed.

"Am I?" Gisella shook her head, the hood falling off. Fear instantly returned to his face upon seeing who she was; he knew she would never lie about something like this. "I'm a good shot, both you and I know this." She pulled the bowstring further back, her fingers turning white from gripping it so tightly.

"How'd you find me?" he demanded, glaring daggers at her. "Last I saw you, you were knocked out-"

"I warged into your horse," she answered simply, shrugging. "Not that hard to do. And you managed to come to one of the most famous inns in all of Westeros- nice job on that." She pursed her lips into a thin line. "Now, are you going to come with me, or am I going to have to put this through your throat?"

"Dumb bitch," he spat, his hands clenching in anger. Even from a few feet away, she could smell the ale on him; _poor boy. So nonsensical when he's in his cups_.

"Fine, then." Gisella shifted her aim a couple inches off and shot the arrow. It whizzed by Theon's ear, planting itself in the doorframe next to him.

His signature smirk played on his lips. "You missed."

She raised her eyebrows minimally, silently challenging him. "Have I? I've still managed to make you piss yourself." He believed the lie and took the bait, looking down at his crotch. She took the opportunity to swing her bow forward, hitting his shoulder and knocking the wind out of him. She kneed him in the groin and shoved his chest, bringing him to the ground. The redhead kicked his shoulders and sent him reeling back. He landed on his back with a _thud_ and gasped when she held the bowstring against his neck. "Still think I'm bluffing, Greyjoy?" she gritted out, sitting on his chest.

He replied by spitting in her face.

She removed the bow and slapped him across the face. "You're coming back to King Robb's camp with me, and that is final. If you want to leave with your life, that is."

He ground his teeth together. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Robb _sent _me to go to Pyke, you know-"

"Look at you, a little puppy dog. The wolf's pup." She wiped the spit off her face. "Going back to the Iron Islands will only raise hell. Trust me." Her anger dissipated, and now she merely felt exhausted. She wanted Theon to believe her and follow her back to the Stark camp. "You trust me, don't you?" she whispered after he didn't respond for a few moments.

"Clearly, _you_ don't trust_ me_. Why else would you have followed me here?" He pushed Gisella off of him and pushed himself up off the floor. He brushed the dust off his nightclothes, his garments and hair disheveled. "Just tell me what's so damn important and maybe, just _maybe_,I'll go with you."

She sighed and stood up, facing him. "I had a dream." She swallowed thickly, her heart beating quickly under her breast. "One of those green dreams I told you about. The ones that come true."

He snorted and rolled his eyes, reaching for his tunic and breeches. "Right, and I'm Queen of Westeros."

"Shut up and listen, you git!" she ordered, smacking his shoulder. "You can't go back to the Iron Islands because your father will turn you against the Starks. Your father would plan a rebellion and he would have you attack Winterfell. If you're half the man I think you are, you would believe me and you wouldn't go back. Your place is by Robb's side. That's the best you can do, and don't take that the wrong way. We can get ships another way. Just trust me." The words came out hurriedly and she didn't breathe until she was done telling the tale.

He studied her for what seemed like an eternity. She could practically see the gears turning inside his head, the inner turmoil and conflict inside him. "You better not be fucking lying," he said finally, his hand gripping the bedpost.

"I'm not, I swear to any and every god there is."

Theon frowned a little and gave the tiniest of nods. "Fine. Alright. I believe you." He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Let me gather my things. We'll leave within the hour."

* * *

I sure hope you guys don't think that it's going to be clear skies from here on out. I'm leaning toward a Jaime-and-Brienne-esque adventure for these guys. You'll see what's in store ;)

Thanks for everyone who reads/faves/subscribes aaaaand reviews! Don't be afraid to show a little love, by the way...or constructive criticism! That would be nice too.

Until next time!

-Cas


	38. Chapter Thirty-Seven

How did everyone like last night's episode? It's probably a favourite among mine...I mean, the Reeds, Cat's speech, Queen of Thorns, Brotherhood Without Banners, Bran's dream...and honestly I am petitioning for Alfie Allen to get nominated for an Emmy. That man is brilliant.

I hope this chapter's alright! I'm not really used to writing in a child's voice...granted, Arya is mature for her age. It may also be a bit rough around the edges because I didn't have a beta. I still hope you guys like it!

I'll definitely try to have another update out before the next episode airs.

Thanks to everyone who reads/subscribes/faves and reviews! I wouldn't be continuing to do this without your support. It means the world to me.

Enjoy! xox

* * *

**_Arya_**

After speaking with Robb and Elira, she was rushed to the river to get bathed. Lady Arwyn, Ryker's wife- _Ryker got married?_-, helped undress and bathe her. She was one of Elira's ladies in waiting and had offered to watch over Arya. Arwyn was a petite thing, and quiet, with a simple elegance to her. She wore her nightclothes, which Arya assumed was Ryker's old tunic. She didn't mind, of course; it made her feel a bit better about wearing her ratty old boy's clothes.

Arwyn held Needle in her hands, eyeing the skinny sword dubiously. "And what's a little girl like you doing with a sword?" There was a hint of amusement in her voice as she pulled the weapon out of its scabbard. She stood up and took a few practice swings, the sound of the sword chopping the air like music to Arya's ears.

"It was a gift," the Stark girl explained, wading in the river. The water was freezing in the early morning, but it was also refreshing; she couldn't even remember the last time she'd had a bath. She crinkled her nose and clucked her tongue at Arwyn. "You look silly."

The Frey girl stopped what she was doing and stared at the princess quizzically. "I'm sorry?"

Arya sighed and ran her fingers through her wet hair, trying to ease out the tangles. "You're doing it wrong. You're supposed to stand side-face." She felt a twisting in her belly as she remembered her lessons with Syrio Forel. She hoped he was still alright- and _alive_. _Of course he's alright. He's the First Sword of Braavos…_

"Smaller target?" Arwyn guessed, fixing her stance. Arya nodded, smiling. "Your sword's too small, anyway." Nonetheless, she takes a few more practice swings before slipping the weapon back into its scabbard. "I would get one of my own, although Ryker wouldn't like that very much." She seemed to be talking to herself, but Arya still paid close attention. She had been taught to not only hear, but to _listen_. "And he _especially _wouldn't like it after…" Arwyn drifted off, and only then did she remember Arya's presence.

"Especially after what?" Arya piped up, spinning around in the water. _A Water Dancer! _

"Never you mind," Arwyn muttered, kneeling next to the river. She scrubbed the princess clean and washed her hair again.

"Tell me!" Arya demanded after coming up for air from underneath the water, finally rinsing off all the soap.

Arwyn looked around her to make sure that no one else was there. "Can you keep a secret?" she asked, helping Arya out of the river.

"A secret?" the girl echoed, her eyes glinting with mirth. She always felt special when entrusted with a secret; it made her feel important. "I can keep it." She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. Arwyn didn't respond for quite some time, instead helped Arya dry off and get dressed. They had managed to find a plain dress for her to wear, but Elira had promised that once Arya's clothes were finished being washed and repaired, she could wear her breeches and tunic all she liked.

"Arya?" Arwyn said, combing through the girl's knotted hair.

"Hmm?"

"I'm pregnant. That's why I can't have a sword." Arwyn's breath was knocked out of her when Arya threw her arms around her neck, hugging her tightly. She was excited for the prospect of yet another baby, and another addition to the family. She wasn't even really sure if Arwyn _was _family, but they were good-sisters, in a way…some distant sort, she knew. She would have to clarify it with Elira, but Arya liked Arwyn enough to call her family.

"When are you going to tell Ryker?" She still hadn't seen the Manston boy, but she figured she would see him later that day. Maybe she would give him a chiding about leaving Sansa; she knew how much her sister had loved him. _But she loves Joffrey now…_

Arwyn smiled and handed the girl her sword. "Soon enough. There's plenty of time for that." She stood up and offered Arya her hand. "Come along, my princess. You should get some rest."

* * *

In the afternoon, after a long nap, Arya was roused and brought to Robb and Elira's tent for lunch. Her brother was holding a war council meeting, so she sat on the cot and ate her stew in silence. She remembered Lord Merek Manston from his visit to Winterfell, but she wondered where his brother was. She caught Ryker's eye and he smiled and waved to her. She didn't see Theon, and she did not know any of the other men, apart from Ser Rodrik, who had quickly ruffled her hair before taking a seat next to Lord Merek.

She played with the babes in the crib while the meeting took place and talked softly with Elira. It was not long before Ned and Lyanna were worn out, and she had to put them back. She would have gone outside the tent to practice with Needle, but her sword had been taken from her and left in her own tent. It seemed like the world was going out of its way to make her bored today.

It felt like an eternity passed before Robb finally called the meeting to an end. Only Robb, Elira, Ryker and Merek stayed; all the others bowed and said their courtesies before exiting. Lyra, Matthew and Arwyn came into the tent with Gendry in tow. Arya held back her laughter when she saw Gendry; his hair was cut and whatever stubble of a beard he'd had was shaved off. He had been put into fancy clothes- a velvet doublet and thick woolen breeches, with knee-high leather boots- and he looked beyond uncomfortable.

"My king, my queen," Lyra said, falling to her knees. Matthew and Gendry followed suit. "This is Gendry Waters. He was another one of our companions on the way back from King's Landing. Princess Arya insisted on bringing him to camp with us."

"Rise," Robb demanded, and the three immediately obliged. "How did you meet my sister, Gendry?" He sounded was courteous and polite, but Arya noted the slight authoritative tone his voice took on. _He is king now…he is in charge._

"We met on our way to Castle Black. She was just Arry the orphan boy back then," the blacksmith explained, keeping his gaze down. "I was working in a smithy in King's Landing, and one day, my master packed my bags and said I was to join the Night's Watch." He cleared his throat, then tacked on a quiet, "Your Grace".

"Did you know she was Arya Stark of Winterfell?" Elira asked, her fingers absentmindedly running through Arya's hair.

"I always knew she was a girl," Gendry replied, shrugging a little. "I wasn't as stupid as the rest of them, Your Grace. It's like none of them had seen girls before." Ryker chuckled at that from his place next to Robb.

Robb scrutinized Gendry, his eyes narrowing. Arya wanted to tell her brother to stop scaring her friend. Even though Gendry was bigger than her brother, Robb's presence was much more intimidating. She wondered if Robb would hurt him, or put him in a cage and keep him captive. She'd heard that that was what they did with the Kingslayer. She even heard from some of the guards that he wasn't half as pretty as he used to be; Arya found that hard to believe. She remembered him from his visit to Winterfell, all shining armor and flowing blonde locks. _I don't fawn over him, though. That's Sansa's job_. Her heart ached thinking of Sansa, who was trapped in the claws of the lions, while Arya was here with their family.

"Do you know who your parents were?" Robb questioned the blacksmith, his hands twitching at his sides. Arya felt as if the young king knew something that she did not. She looked up at Elira for reassurance, or perhaps a quick word, but her good-sister was intently watching Gendry.

"I don't know, Your Grace. I never met my father. And my mother died when I was very young." He shrugged again. "She had blonde hair…she'd sing to me. That's all I remember."

"That's alright," Elle assured him, her hands resting on Arya's shoulders. "I'm sorry for your loss." The blacksmith nodded his head sharply, his jaw clenched tightly.

Gendry licked his lips and took in a deep breath. "I spoke to your father, Your Grace." Robb and Elira visibly tensed at that. "He asked me about my parents, just as you had."

Arwyn stepped forward, a piece of parchment paper in her hands. "Gendry, would you read this and tell us what you know?" She held out the letter for him to take. Arya could feel the tension and suspense in the air; no one moved or breathed until Gendry reached out to grab the paper.

He scanned it quickly before handing it back to Arwyn. "I can't read, my lady." Arwyn blushed and took the letter back, her head down. _Of course a blacksmith wouldn't know how to read… _Arya wasn't sure if she should laugh or not; the situation had been so serious, and his tone was somehow comical.

"I'll explain the…predicament to Gendry, if you would like me to, Your Grace," Lyra offered, her hands casually on her hips. Arya admired the warrior woman; she was fierce, confident, and was great with a sword. Lyra had even promised her to help her with her weapons training.

"That would be appreciated, thank you, my lady," Robb responded, nodding. "All of you are free to leave. We shall speak again at supper." The tent cleared out immediately, and Arya was amazed by Robb's power. Gendry shot her a look over his shoulder and she tried to smile, wanting to reassure her friend.

Arya hadn't missed the sharp look Elira had given Arwyn. "How about I take you on a tour of the camp?" Arwyn suggested, kneeling down so she was at eye level with the princess. "It's quite a big place, so I don't suggest going around by yourself if you want to see it." The Frey girl offered her a smile, but Arya could tell that it was strained. Stark accepted the offer- it's not like she had much of a choice, really. No doubt if she refused, other methods of distraction would come up.

"I think I forgot something inside the tent," Arya fibbed, trying to keep a blank expression. Arwyn permitted her to go back to retrieve whatever it was she'd 'forgotten'. The young girl rushed back to Robb and Elira's tent, wanting to know what discussion she had left behind. She was careful to avoid stepping on the fallen leaves and small twigs. It was hard for her, though, because the temptation was so great; she always loved the sound of the crunching leaves under her feet. Syrio Forel's teachings echoed in her ears; _quiet as a shadow_.

She strained her ears to hear what they were saying, leaning as close to the tent's opening as she could without looking suspicious. She made out a few muffled voices, but it was hard for her to distinguish what they were saying. She took one more step forward, drawing in a sharp intake of breath in shock when she heard her brother's clear voice; "Gendry Waters is the son of King Robert Baratheon."


	39. Chapter Thirty-Eight

Sorry for the delay, and sorry for the short-ish chapter. I'm just all over the place lately, but I'm finishing up a couple of projects at school, so once I'm done those, updates should be longer and (hopefully) more frequent.

I'm gonna try to get an update out every Monday. Sound fair?

Thanks to everyone who reads/faves/subscribes aaaaand reviews. You guys are what keeps me going.

Enjoy! xoxo

* * *

**_Jon_**

He was sent to Lord Stannis' tent- _King_ Stannis, Jon had to remind himself, if he wanted to stay on his good side-, the next morning. The Red Woman- Jon had learnt her name to be Melisandre- had escorted him to a tent the night before, after Stannis had refused visitors for the time being. Ghost had to wait in the kennels, which made Jon uneasy; everywhere Jon went, Ghost went. It was a deal made with Melisandre; she didn't want the other men to be suspicious. Jon just thought that they wanted to give him less of a fighting chance. At least they hadn't taken away his sword, he mused.

"His Grace does not usually take too kindly to visitors," Melisandre admitted as they walked to Stannis' tent. "Especially not traitors." There was no malice in her voice; her tone was light. And she had truth to her words, after all. "Stannis is just and honorable, though. He will hear what you have to say."

"Thank you, my lady." He took in the sight of the camp; it was much smaller than Robb's, that was for sure. Although even from the quick peek he had gotten of Renly's camp, it was clear that the youngest Baratheon brother had the biggest advantage. "My father told me tales of King Stannis' good and honest nature."

"Here is another tale for you, Prince Stark." Her smile was catlike and sent shivers up and down Jon's spine. "Have you ever heard of Azor Ahai? The prince that was promised?" He shook his head and felt his palms sweating under the leather gloves he wore; he could not tell if it was in fear or anticipation. "Azor Ahai rose from salt and smoke to defeat the Great Other while wielding Lightbringer. The sword became powerful only once he plunged it into the heart of his wife, Nissa Nissa, binding her soul with the sword."

Jon was not easily frightened, but the Red Woman was able to chill and curdle his blood in a way he had not known to be possible. The only other time he had been this frightened was when he fought the wight in the Lord Commander's chambers. Perhaps he related the two, somehow; both were otherworldly beings, almost. But Melisandre was fire, and the wight was ice. Fire and ice couldn't be the same, could they? _The cold burns, just as fire does…_

"Azor Ahai will rise again once the Great Other returns. They are locked in an eternal battle, R'hllor and the Great Other, whose real name must not be spoken."

"Ruhllur?" Jon questioned, unable to pronounce the name.

Melisandre smiled again, her red eyes staring into him. "R'hllor, Jon Stark. He is the Red God, the God of Fire. Azor Ahai is His...messenger, if you will. He is the chosen one." She pointed to the red comet trailing the length of the sky. "Do you see that comet, my prince?"

He nodded. "The Northerners say it is for bloodshed, for war." His cheek twitched. "For vengeance."

She chuckled a bit, shaking her head. "The Northerners know nothing of R'hllor. The red comet promises the arrival of a reborn Azor Ahai. The long summer is ending, and an even longer winter shall follow. I'm sure your wet nurse told you stories about the Long Night." He hardly considered Old Nan to be his wet nurse- he shuddered at the thought, even-, but he nodded nonetheless.

"Who is he, then?" His cheeks heat up and his tongue darted out to lick his dry lips. "Azor Ahai, I mean. You said he would be reborn."

"Stannis Baratheon is Azor Ahai, of course. Why else would I be here?" She had a point; the Red God was almost unheard of in Westeros. And to travel all the way from Asshai… "We burnt the statues of the false gods, and Stannis now wields Lightbringer. He is meant to save us all, and he is meant to rule."

"How can you be sure?" He thought she would be fed up of his endless questions, but the strange smile remained on her face.

"I have seen it in my flames, Jon Stark. Just as I had seen your arrival."

Before he got a chance to ask her what she meant, they arrived at Stannis' tent. The banner with the stag in the fiery heart was raised high, billowing proudly in the wind. _Can a stag withstand the flames?_

They entered the tent, which was empty, save for Stannis and an older man, with an onion sewn on his doublet and a small leather pouch hanging around his neck. _Ser Davos Seaworth. The Onion Knight._ Jon had heard the tale many times, and still could not understand why Stannis cut off Davos' fingers, even though he saved everyone in Storm's End.

"Your Grace, Ser Davos," Melisandre said, her voice as smooth as Dornish wine. "This is Prince Jon Stark." Jon hurriedly got down on one knee and bowed his head.

"I know who he is." Stannis ground his teeth together and stood up, scrutinizing the Stark boy. "You've travelled a long way," he commented, his face unreadable. "Stand up."

Jon obliged. "I have, Your Grace. My brother, King Robb, sends his regards and regrets that he cannot be here himself." He had rehearsed the conversation over and over again to himself throughout his journey here. Lady Catelyn had given him strange looks, after she had caught him talking to himself on more than one occasion. _She must have thought me mad…I might be mad, though. Why else would I come here? _

"I'm sure," Stannis said dubiously. "What brings you so far from the North? Wolves aren't meant to be this far south." Stark was not sure if his words were meant to be a jest or not. _Stannis does not jest, _he reminded himself.

"We are fighting a war, Your Grace, the same war as you." A part of Jon was thankful that Melisandre stayed close to his side; with Ghost locked in the kennels, she was the only person he knew here. It also terrified him; she could kill him easily, with one swift movement.

"Not the same war, no." Stannis glowered at him. "We are fighting against each other. You try to steal the North from me. The Seven Kingdoms is rightfully mine, _including _the North-"

Jon raised his voice and spoke over Stannis; "My father vouched for you and your claim, Your Grace." Baratheon put a hand on the hilt of his sword, his jaw clenching so tightly Jon was sure it would snap. He didn't care if it wasn't courteous to interrupt him; he had to put the offer on the table as soon as possible. He didn't want to stay here a moment more than necessary; he needed an answer, and _now_.

"Your Grace," Ser Davos Seaworth spoke softly, putting a hand on Stannis' arm. "The prince meant no harm." His words and gesture seemed to calm the king.

Stannis inhaled deeply through his nostrils and removed his hand from the sword pommel. "Speak, boy." He heard Robb's angry voice in his ears; _"I'm not your boy…don't call me boy..." _But Jon was not his brother, Jon was not a king; he could not say what he pleased.

He nodded his head in gratitude. "We both have a common enemy; the Lannisters. Neither of our armies are capable of defeating them…alone. If we were to join forces, we could attack Tywin's forces in the West, then move onto King's Landing and secure your throne." He pursed his lips, his hands clasped behind his back. "All we ask is for the North to remain a free and independent kingdom."

"And what of my brother, Renly?" Renly's name was said as if it caused Stannis physical pain. "He proclaims himself to be the rightful heir."

"Perhaps we could persuade Renly otherwise."

"An alliance between us and the Starks would be very advantageous, Your Grace," Davos murmured, sparing Jon a glance. "The North is the largest kingdom, and would earn you much support."

"But they would not bend the knee."

"We would acknowledge you as the rightful heir," Jon protested. _Gods_, this man was stubborn.

Stannis shrugged a little. "All I ask is that you bend the knee; if your brother gives up his title as king, then we would have a deal."

"I cannot promise that my brother will give up his title." Jon's foot tapped impatiently on its own accord. "In all due respect, Your Grace, I cannot ride back and forth between camp to camp like some trained raven."

Stannis put his hand up. "No more. We shall speak of this no more today." He came from around the table and stood in front of Jon, towering over him. "We ride on the morrow, to Bitterbridge, to Renly. You're coming with us."


	40. Chapter Thirty-Nine

Hi! :) How did everyone like last night's episode? I personally loved it; definitely one of the strongest ones of the entire series so far.

I know I normally don't do this, but there's two POVs in this chapter; both of them were too short to be posted on their own, so it's like two mini-chapters.

Thanks for all your support! It means so much.

Enjoy!

* * *

**_Lyra_**

"You're doing it wrong."

"What?"

"Side-face! How can you teach me how to fight if you can't even do it right yourself?" Arya rolled her eyes, the thin sword dangling from her loose grip. Ryker looked ready to run the princess right through; Elira told Lyra that her brother had always been hotheaded.

Ryker took a deep breath, his knuckles white from the iron grip he had on his sword handle. "I'm supposed to teach you the Westerosi way to fight, not the Braavosi way." For the past few days, Lyra and Ryker had been taking turns teaching the young princess how to fight. She was already quite skilled and trained by Syrio Forel, so they had to _complete_ her training, rather than make her relearn everything. They tried to keep the training as close to Syrio's, so their sessions were mostly comprised of Arya ordering them around.

"The Water Dance is the proper way to fight," Arya said matter-of-factly, crossing her arms over her chest. "The Braavosi knights don't even have to wear armor."

"But they do," Ryker retorted, his brow furrowed.

"They do. But they don't _have _to."

"Either way, you're going to be wearing armor, little wolf," Lyra called, leaning on the spear she'd planted into the dirt. "Can you imagine what would happen to me and Ser Shaggyhair over here if you were hurt?" She slung an arm over Ryker's shoulders, grinning at him while he scowled at the nickname. "Your brother would have both of our heads, no doubt."

"I wouldn't let Robb take your heads off," Arya assured them. "Besides, I think he likes you too much to do that." She tossed Needle from one hand to another, her eyes following the blade. "Every hurt is a lesson, and every lesson makes you better. So really, it's _good _if I get hurt."

"Did Syrio teach you that?" Lyra questioned, letting Ryker push her away. Arya nodded and sheathed her blade. "I think there's some sense to what he's saying." Lannister pulled the spear out of the ground and brought it down hard on the back of Ryker's thighs. He yelped and sunk to his knees, rubbing the injured flesh from over his woolen breeches.

"What the _fuck_-"

"_Language_!"

"-was _that _for?"

The blonde beamed at him, twirling the spear in her hand. "A lesson." She helped him to his feet, but as soon as he regained his balance, she swung the spear to his thighs once more. Just as the weapon was about to make contact, his hand darted out and he grabbed the spear, pulling it out of her hands. He snapped it in two over his knee, spinning around to face her, and pointed each half at her throat.

"Ah, good. You learn fast." Lyra took the broken spear from him and tossed the pieces aside. From a few paces away, Arya was clapping and cheering. Lyra unclipped the wineskin from her belt and raised it to her lips. "Here's hoping you don't get splinters on that pale Northern arse of yours." She laughed and took a swig of the water; surely she'd be a bad influence if she was in her cups in front of the princess. It was also scorching hot that day, with the sun beating down on them, and not even the slightest breeze to cool them. They wore only thin tunics and breeches rolled up to their knees, leaving their feet bare. Lyra was glad for her short hair, so nothing was on her sweaty neck.

"Nobody can touch or talk about my arse except for my wife." Ryker did his best to sound intimidating, but his growl came out as a laugh. By the time he reached out for Lyra's wineskin, he was grinning widely. "Did you have enough for today, little wolf?" he asked, looking at Arya.

"'Course she hasn't," Lyra chided, snatching back her wineskin. "You spent your whole time bickering over the Water Dance with her." She turned to the princess and knelt in front of her. "How about we do some archery for a bit, and then call it a day?"

* * *

**_Theon_**

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

A beat. "How about now?"

Gisella took a deep breath, and Theon grinned when he saw her face flush red with anger. "You have to be the most petty, _childish _excuse for a lord I have ever met." He enjoyed getting her riled up like this; it was so easy to do.

He bowed his head mockingly, smirking. "At your service, my lady." He laughed when she kicked the sides of her horse, speeding up to get away from him. "They always come back, you know!" he shouted after her, trying to catch up to her. It was hard with his hands bound, and his wrists were stinging with rope burns. He could still feel the bruise on his cheek Gisella had given him when she slapped him at the inn, and he would always worry that the scratch from the bowstring on his throat would open and he would bleed out. Of course, he didn't tell any of his fears to Gisella; she would only laugh at him and give him more things to be scared of.

"I'm starving," Theon complained, finally caught up with Gisella. She tugged harshly on the rope that bound his wrists and was tied to her horse.

"We just ate yesterday," she reminded him with a roll of her eyes. It seemed as if the redhead never had to eat; Theon envied her for that. He'd heard tales about Wargs being able to slip into others' skins at night and hunt; the tales said that they didn't have to eat when inside their own bodies, because their hunting while warged would be sufficient.

"That was a whole _day _ago," he whined. In truth, he was not even _that _hungry- he just liked getting on her nerves. "Give me my bow and my sword; I can hunt and feed us for a good week." He missed the weight of his bow in his hand, the sense of pride he'd get when the arrow would hit the dead center of the target with a _thwack_. He deemed it cruel to take a bow away from a Greyjoy; it was like taking away mother's milk from a babe.

"I don't think entrusting you with some weapons while we're alone would be a smart move." She smirked and patted the big bag of weapons, which was tied on her saddle behind her. "We shall hunt when I say we can hunt, and even then, it will only be me doing the hunting." Theon scowled at that; he was not used to leaving everything in charge of a woman. Especially not a woman as hard-headed and infuriating as she.

"That will be in ages, considering you're not hungry." Sometimes, Theon thought that it would be easier to be a woman; just bat your eyelashes and show off your tits and cunt, and you could have whatever you wanted. _Except that wouldn't really work here, considering Gisella's a girl…_

She shrugged. "Then that's your problem. You should have thought of that before you went prancing off to the Iron Islands, even thought I told you _specifically _not to." She glared at him pointedly.

"Wait until Robb hears this; you're starving me, keeping me in _chains_-"

"If you want real chains all you have to do is ask."

"So you'll grant me that request, then?"

She snorted. "You're impossible." She tossed her long braid over her shoulder, her red hair darker than normal and still damp from the rain earlier on. "Run to your wolf, then; I'm sure he won't care about how I treated you once I tell him what you were going to do."

"Except I don't even _know _what I was going to do!"

She ignored him. "You know, you would be treated much worse, if you were in someone else's hands. You're quite lucky it was only me." _You and I have very different definitions of lucky…_

He sighed in defeat, slumping his shoulder. "Alright, how about we make a deal?" She quirked an eyebrow at him, obviously interested. "We make camp right here, take some time to let our clothes dry and let me hunt."

"And what do I get in return?"

"A few hours' rest, a nice warm meal…" He drifted off when he saw that she still wasn't convinced. He frowned, pursing his lips together. "Fine, I'll shut up for the rest of the trip."

"That's an awful long trip, Greyjoy."

"It's been an awful long time since I've eaten, Merlyn."

Gisella slowed down her horse and tied the mare to the nearest tree; Theon did the same. She opened the bag of weapons and pulled out Theon's bow and arrow quiver. She tossed them to him, and he made quick work to sling them over his back. She took out her longsword and tied the belt around her waist, then gave Theon his sword.

Her hand was still wrapped around the hilt of the sword. "An hour. That's all you're getting," she told him, a warning tone in her voice.

He shrugged. "Fine by me." She released the sword and took a couple steps back. She began picking up small branches and twigs- to start a fire with, no doubt.

Theon took a look around; the clearing they were in was quite small, but more than enough room for the two of them plus their horses. Judging by the moss on the rocks and trees, they were going south. He frowned and kicked at a root lying about; he should be going _north_. To the Iron Islands.

Robb wanted him to go to Pyke. Gisella claimed that the king would be _happy _she brought him back. _Happy to cut my head off and brand me a traitor, after I didn't follow his orders_. And who did this little bitch think she was, anyway? She couldn't order him around; she came from a lesser house of Pyke, and he was to be _King _of the Iron Isles.

His coin purse hung from his belt, feeling heavier the more Theon focused on it. There wasn't much coin in it, but there was enough to buy a passage to the Iron Isles, and maybe even buy a whore or two for a night. The coin was being _wasted _here; he could broker an alliance and finish the war with the same amount of coin, if only Gisella would let him.

Why should he wait around for her? He had a duty to do. Gisella should understand that. If not, well, she could shove that longsword up her ass for all Theon cared. He was going to the Iron Islands whether she liked it or not.

Guilt settled in the pit of his belly and twisted like a knife as he approached her. "Gisella?" he called, his bow suddenly feeling very heavy in his hands. He swallowed deeply and took a deep breath, trying not to shake. _You can do this. It's for the good of the Realm_.

"Hmm?" The redhead turned towards him, the sticks and twigs still in her arms. Theon swung the bow, the _crack_ing sound echoing throughout the clearing as the carved wood slammed into her temple. As he swung up onto his horse and rode away, remorse settling into his stomach like a block of ice, the only thing he could think of was her blood stained on the grass, red like her hair.


	41. Chapter Forty

Hey! So I managed to get this chapter out a day early. Hell yeah! It was a lot easier, considering this one is the first show-based one in awhile.

I hope everyone enjoys the episode tonight! I myself am excited for a certain Kit Harington...hehe.

Thanks for all the support! I really appreciate it, and you guys have helped me every step of the way. Give yourselves a pat on the back.

Enjoy!

* * *

**_Jon_**

The wind cut right into his bones, biting and nipping at his skin. He clenched his jaw as tightly as he could, so as his teeth and frame would not chatter violently. He was of the North; he could handle cold. But this wind was not cold, it was warm, smelling and tasting of salt from the sea. The old gods had no power here, he knew, but he felt as if the wind was the gods, trying to tell them something. Ever since he got on his horse this morning, he had a bad feeling.

Ghost next to him was reassuring. Stannis had let him bring the direwolf, but Jon thought the king was only letting him for certain intimidation. Was Stannis…paranoid, perhaps? The more Jon thought about it, the more it made _him_ paranoid. He attempted to distract himself, staring out into the ocean, the salt feeling like knives against his flesh.

Lady Stark looked frightened out of her wits. Jon wasn't sure why, but he wished to reach out and assure her that everything was alright. He murmured to Ghost to join Lady Stark, but the direwolf was unfamiliar with that command. It took a couple of tries, but eventually, the wolf loped over to Catelyn. Lady Stark stared at the direwolf in disbelief, then met Jon's gaze. He offered a small smile, and she returned a watery one of her own.

"Lady Stark," Stannis called, "I had not thought to find you in the Stormlands." The banner with the fiery stag heart waved proudly above the king, where he sat tall on his horse. Renly's own gold and green banner blew in the wind, and Jon still could not understand how two stags- however different they may be- would still be pitted against each other.

Could he do that to Robb? Openly call him his enemy, and call the banners against his _brother_? He and Robb were complete opposites, yes, but they were still two sides of the same coin. They needed one another, no matter how different they were. Isn't that what all brothers were? All _siblings_? Sansa and Arya, Bran and Rickon…silly feuds, nothing more. Surely nothing to start a war over?

"I had not thought to _be _here, Lord Stannis," Catelyn admitted. In truth, she did look rather out of place. Renly was accompanied by Ser Loras Tyrell and four other guards. Jon had constantly heard that war was no place for women. Certainly not a trout in company of stags. Yet Lady Catelyn was one of the strongest women he knew, and more full of sense than any of these kings.

"Can that truly be you?" Renly marveled. He looked like a true king, Jon conceded, with his gold-plated armor and embellished crown. He was proud, gallant and handsome, like a hero in one of Sansa's songs. Yet he had fought no battles, while Robb, much younger than Renly, won every battle he was in.

"Who else might it be?" Stannis retorted.

"When I saw your standard, I couldn't be sure. Whose banner is that?"

"My own."

"I suppose if we used the same one, the battle would be terribly confusing." Renly grinned, and Jon could tell just how young he was. "Why is your stag on fire?" He sounded genuinely interested, but Stark felt a cruel jape coming soon.

"The king has taken for his sigil the fiery heart of the Lord of Light," Melisandre responded.

"Ah, you must be this Fire Priestess we hear so much about." His grin widened, and the jape finally came; "Brother, now I understand why you found religion in your old age." His eyes never left Melisandre, as if to prove his point. She was not uncomfortable under his stare; Jon admired her cool confidence.

"Watch yourself, Renly," Stannis warned.

"No, no, I'm relieved." The younger Baratheon feigned innocence. "I never really believed you were a fanatic. Charmless, rigid, and a bore, yes. But not a godly man."

"You should kneel before your brother," the Red Woman declared. "He's the Lord's chosen, born amidst salt and smoke."

"Born amidst salt and smoke?" Renly echoed. "Is he a ham?"

"That's twice I've warned you," Stannis interjected, while Melisandre sighed deeply.

"Listen to yourselves," Catelyn spoke up, the only gentle one out of them. "If you were sons of mine, I would knock your heads together and lock you in a bedchamber until you remembered that you were _brothers_." Jon's heart leapt into his throat. Lady Catelyn had done that to him and Robb once, when they were boys of six. _I am no son of hers, yet she gave me that same treatment, once…_

"It is strange to find you beside my brother, Lady Stark," Stannis said. "Your husband was a supporter of my claim. Lord Eddard's integrity cost him his head. And you sit beside this pretender and chastise me?"

"_I _sit beside you, in both my father and Lady Stark's place, Your Grace," Jon said sharply, his voice as hard as steel. "We only wish to see you and your brother reconcile and end this war."

"We share a common enemy," Catelyn added.

"The Iron Throne is mine. By right. All those that deny that are my foes." _How can your foe be your brother? Blood is stronger than claim, isn't it?_

Renly smiled, although this one was strained. Jon could tell that he was getting nervous. "The whole Realm denies it, from Dorne to the Wall." His face grew dark like the skies above. "Old men deny it with their death rattles, and unborn children deny it in their mothers' wombs." Jon heard the distant sound of thunder crashing, chilling him to the bone. "No one wants you for their king. You never wanted any friends, brother. But a man without friends is a man without power."

Stannis cocked his head slightly to the side. "For the sake of the mother who bore us, I will give you this one night to reconsider. Strike your banners, come to me before dawn, and I will grant you your old seat on the council. I'll even name you my heir, until a son is born to me." Melisandre had a queer smile at that, one which unsettled Jon. "Otherwise I shall destroy you." His face was full of regret, and for the first time, his expression was soft.

Jon's eyes locked with Catelyn's. He felt like a scared little boy, one who wanted to run to his mother and clutch her skirts and cry. But she was not his mother, nor could she protect him now. A storm was brewing, not only in the skies, but in the hearts of men.

"You cross those fields, brother," Renly challenged. "Can you see all those banners?"

The hardness in Stannis' face returned. "You think a few bolts of cloth will make you king?"

"No. The men holding those bolts of cloth will make me king."

"We shall see, Renly. Come at dawn, and we shall see." Stannis turned his horse around, effectively ending the conversation.

"Look to your sins, Lord Renly," Melisandre's voice echoed in Jon's ears as he rode behind Stannis with Ser Davos. "The night is dark and full of terrors."

Ghost approached Jon, but the dark-haired boy shooed him away. "Stay with Lady Stark," he commanded. If there was to be a battle tonight, he wanted her to be protected.

Jon rode closer to Davos, whom he had come to trust and grow to admire within the short time spent at Stannis' camp. "Ser Seaworth," Jon began, keeping his voice low, "what happens now?"

The older man took a deep breath, exhaling through his nose. With each step the horse took, the leather pouch hanging around his neck bounced up and down, hitting the knight's chest. "Now, Prince Jon, we wait."

* * *

_The wolf waited next to Lady Catelyn, sitting silently and attentively. Her hand ran through the white fur on the back of his neck methodically. Renly was in the same tent, being fit for his armor by a large knight._

_Catelyn stood up, her fingers sifting through the wolf's fur one last time. "Our two houses have always been close. Which is why I am __**begging **__you to reconsider this battle. Negotiate a peace with your brother-"_

_"Negotiate with Stannis?" Renly interrupted, snorting. "You heard him out there. I'd have better luck debating the wind." The knight pulled off Renly's breastplate, going to adjust it. The king turned around, standing tall. "Please bring my terms to your son. I believe we are natural allies. I hope he feels the same. Together, we could end this war in a fortnight." Shrugging, he turned back around to face the mirror. _

_Ghost's ears pricked up, hearing the shrieking of wind. Ghost stood on all fours, snarling, in front of Lady Catelyn, protecting her. The tent's flaps opened, a dark shadow slithering inside. The knight gasped as it slunk over to Renly, the shadow's blade plunging into Renly's heart. The weapon turned into smoke and bled down with the king's life blood._

_The knight screamed- distinctly feminine, he noted. Renly choked and coughed, falling into her arms. Her eyes were wide with horror, tears swimming in the brilliant blue. A pair of guards dashed into the room as the knight laid the king down on the floor, leaning over him._

_"You'll die for this!" one of the knights promised, unsheathing his sword; the other followed suit._

_"N-no, wait!" Catelyn cried, trying to hold them back. "It wasn't her!" But they pushed her aside, throwing themselves at the knight. The tall woman fought them off easily enough, blocking their blows and sending them reeling backward. Ghost ran forward and launched himself at one of the guards, tearing out his throat. The knight killed the other guard, her sword thrusting into the back of his neck._

_The knight fell to her knees and wept over Renly's body, her wails echoing in the tent. "We've got to leave," Catelyn said, rushing over to the larger woman, rubbing her back. "They'll __**hang **__you for this!" Ghost tugged insistently on Catelyn's skirts, the blood on his muzzle seeping into the fabric. He could hear guards outside, could hear them approaching. "__**Now**__!"_

_"I won't leave him," the knight whispered, her voice shaking as Catelyn pulled her to her feet._

_"You can't avenge him if you are dead." Catelyn's gloves hands clutched onto the knight's shoulders, forcing her to look into her eyes._

_Ghost tugged on Cat's skirts once more, then looked towards the exit at the back of the tent, whining softly, hoping they would understand. He led them outside, into the dark. With every step, they were further away from Renly's soldiers. But that did not help soothe him at all. __**For**__**the night is dark and full of terror.**_


	42. Chapter Forty-One

Sorry for missing my Monday update day...I'll be back on schedule next week.

How did everyone like Sunday's episode? I must admit that Iwan Rheon as Ramsay is a FANTASTIC choice.

Thanks for everyone's support. Don't hesitate to leave feedback: every little bit counts.

The next couple of chapters should speed things up, and the plot should move faster from then on. I know the past few chapters have been a bit boring, but it's building up, I promise. The BWB might even be making an appearance soon, although I cannot promise that, nor will I spoil anything...

Enjoy the chapter, and enjoy this Sunday's episode! xo

* * *

**_Elira_**

The day was hot, with the sun beating down on them and not a gust of wind to grant them mercy. Their clothes were heavy, sticking to their skin and weighing them down. Elira envied Lyra's short hair in this moment; her own curls were plastered across her neck, soaked in sweat. Her skirts were hiked up as far as they could go while still being deemed decent. She wished she had a summer gown to wear, like the ones the ladies in Dorne and King's Landing sported.

"This heat," the young queen panted, "is bloody unbearable." She longed for a tall, cool glass of water to soothe her parched throat.

"The North is too cold, and the South is too hot," Lady Arwyn sighed, pinning her hair to the top of her head. Her cheeks were flushed, contrasting nicely with her pale skin and dark locks.

"Gods forsaken weather," Elira cursed. They were taking a walk on the outskirts of the camp, close to the river. Elle relished in any scrap of wind or spot of shade. She would have loved to slip out of her gown and go wading in the shallow water, but that wouldn't be _queenly_. She scowled, kicking at a patch of grass; she hated that word. _Queenly. I don't even want to be a queen._

"Walking is better than laying out to poach, I suppose," Arwyn mused.

"At least you're used to the weather."

Her good-sister laughed, a grin on her lips. "You're the Queen in the _North_; you're not _supposed _to be used to this heat."

Elira let out a chuckle of her own. "Pretty soon I'll be called the Ice Queen. I feel as if I'll melt if I stay out here any longer."

They got back to the camp and slipped into the tent Elle shared with Robb. Her husband was talking quietly to Ryker and Lyra, his face full of concern. Grey Wind was not by his side, which planted a seed of worry inside the queen's heart.

"Your Grace," she murmured, tugging on his hand. She could feel the heat from his palm burning through the leather gloves. "What's the matter?"

His jaw clenched tightly, his gaze set stubbornly ahead. "It's Arya." His tone was clipped and cryptic. "She's gone."

The redness in her cheeks from the heat faded in the blink of an eye, her face now of a ghostly pallor. "Gone?" Elira repeated, utterly baffled. "What do you mean, _gone_?"

"Gone, missing, ran away," Ryker snapped, visibly agitated. "Lyra and I were training with her this morning, and then…" He slammed his fist down on the desk, his shoulders wracking with tremors. Elira remembered when they were children; Ryker would often have the shakes, and they would be even worse when he was nervous or upset. He had eventually grown out of them, but that did not prevent an attack to happen once in awhile.

"She said she was going for a horse ride," Lyra elaborated, staring at her boots. "We took her to the stables and she said that she would have one of the stableboys or squires lead her around…that was hours ago. We kept thinking that she would show up, but…" Elira could have sworn that Lyra- fierce, brave, strong Lyra- was crying. "I'm sorry, my king, my queen."

"Grey Wind is searching for her," Robb said, trying to make light of the situation. "I'm sure he'll find her scent soon enough." Elira was able to tell when her husband was nervous; it was either painfully obvious, or she had picked up on it during their marriage. He ran his fingers through his curls, his face slightly scrunched up in what would be an endearing way, were he not trembling violently as if he'd been caught in a snowstorm without a cloak.

"She has to come back," Elle reasoned. "She couldn't handle being out there for that long..." Her stomach lurched painfully when she thought of several extreme scenarios. Starved, frozen, ambushed, found by Lannisters... Robb's hand on the small of her back did little to help the nausea, although it was slightly reassuring.

"Matthew and I will go out to find her," Lyra declared, already picking up her bow and arrow quiver from the door and slinging them across her back. "We should be back by nightfall, and hopefully with the princess." She grimaced and took her leave, her steps faster than usual, with purpose. Ryker and Arwyn left soon after, with promises to pray to the gods.

"What in the seven hells is going on?" Elira demanded once they were alone, smacking her husband's arm. In the crib, the babes began to cry, as if they sensed something was wrong. "Arwyn and I are gone for _two hours_, and we come back to _this_!" She took a deep breath, some of her anger dissipating when Robb's lips touched her forehead. She slipped out of his embrace and went to tend to the babes.

"She'll be back soon, I promise." He swallowed thickly and picked up Ned while Elle picked up Lyanna. "We just got her back. I'm not going to lose her again." He gently rocked Ned, looking down at the babe with adoring eyes. "There's something else," Robb admitted, a blush creeping up his neck.

"I don't think I can take any more bad news," she muttered, baring her breast to feed Lyanna. The babe suckled eagerly, her tiny hands fisted in the ends of Elira's curls.

"It's not necessarily _bad_," Robb said slowly, letting Ned pull at his beard.

"Tell, then."

The Young Wolf sucked in a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the ground. "Renly Baratheon is dead." Elira was shocked, rendered speechless by the news. "Jon sent a raven and we got it this morning. It didn't say much else, except for that he and my mother would be coming back shortly."

"What happened to Renly?"

He licked his lips and shrugged a little. "Jon didn't mention that. I suppose he'll tell us upon his return." _What could be so terrible that he can't send it in a letter?_

"And what of Stannis?" Stannis was their only hope now; with Renly gone, they could not turn to anyone else. Elira still clung onto the hope that Theon had gotten his father's ships, but there had been no word from him, so she could not count on that.

"Hopefully Stannis has agreed to join forces with us, but all Jon said was that they were still negotiating." He switched Ned for Lyanna once the girl was done feeding. "You don't think…" He drifted off, shrinking into his cloak, as if he was embarrassed.

"What?"

He met her eyes finally, blue boring into hazel. "You don't think Stannis killed Renly, do you?"

They were brothers- surely they wouldn't kill one another. That would be kinslaying, a horrible sin. "Only Jon will be able to tell us what happened. Until then, we have to accept the news and simply wait."

* * *

Arya was brought back to the camp by evenfall, grumbling and sulking. Her shoulders were hunched and she refused to meet anyone's eye, either from shame or anger. Her clothes were tattered and dirty, and her state most definitely called for another bath.

The princess stayed in her tent, shooing away any and all visitors. She was such a stubborn thing, that one. A real she-wolf. She only let Gendry enter, but even that was only for a few moments before she sent him away, yelling at him.

"Arya," Elira called, poking her head into the tent. "I know you probably don't want to see anybody, but may I please come in?" She kept her voice soft and low, not wanting to pressure the girl.

Arya sighed, her arms still crossed around her chest. "Fine, you can come in." Elira smiled gratefully and took a seat next to the princess, their backs pressed against the small cot. Arya had her legs tucked under her, her lips jutted out into a pout. Only then did Elira remember how young Arya was.

"Arya, are you alright?" _Gods be good, of course she's not. Way to start off a conversation_. "That was a stupid question, I'm sorry." Her hand found Arya's and she gave a light squeeze. "Can you tell me why you're upset?"

The girl sighed heavily and leaned her head on Elira's shoulder. "Robb told me that I have to get married." She pulled away and met Elira's gaze, her grey eyes wide with fear and anxiousness. "And to some stupid Frey boy, no less. I don't want to get married."

Elira sighed and put an arm around Arya's shoulders. "I don't mean to be blunt here, sweet, but it has to happen eventually. You'll help rule a castle and have lovely princes and princesses." She thought back to their talk in the stables, ages ago in Winterfell. Her heart twisted in her chest, sick with nostalgia. She longed for the warmth of the Great Hall, for the taste of the snow on her tongue, for _home_.

"I don't want a stupid castle. I want to be a _knight_."

Elira pressed her lips to Arya's temple. "We have to make sacrifices. Everything will work out, trust me." She ruffled the girl's hair. "Do you think that I was so keen on marrying your brother? Ryker and Olyver had to drag me out of bed the morning we left."

"That's different." Arya wiped her nose on her sleeve. "You're a perfect, pretty lady. When we were going to the Wall, all the men there thought I was a _boy_!"

"Gendry didn't," Elle protested, remembering her first meeting with the young blacksmith. Realization dawned on her. "Is that why you're so upset? Do you…have feelings for him?"

Arya made a revolted face, her nose crinkled and her eyes narrowed. "That's disgusting!" Elira had to laugh; all children were the same. "I just…I'm scared. I don't know. Syrio said that fear cuts deeper than swords, so I _shouldn't _be scared, but…"

"Don't fret, little wolf. It's natural to be frightened." The queen offered her good-sister a reassuring smile, squeezing her hand once more. "I'm sure your Frey boy will be a gentle and loving young lad." She got to her feet and pulled Arya up with her. She looked into the Stark girl's eyes, her expression serious. "Don't go running off again, alright? I don't want you getting hurt." She brushed Arya's matted hair away from her face as the girl nodded. "How about you take a bath and I'll patch you up afterwards?" There was a nasty scrape on the girl's knee, and her face and arms were covered in purple, green and yellow bruises.

Arya yawned, reminding Elira of a small wolf pup. She thought back to when they first found the direwolves; they were all so tiny back them, the wolves and the Starks alike. Arya leaned against Elira for support, for she would fall asleep and take a tumble at any given moment without Elira's arm around her. "That sounds like a good idea." She yawned again, then giggled a bit, showing off her dimples. "As long as I can go to bed after."


	43. Chapter Forty-Two

I think I'm going to change my weekly update day to Wednesday...it was unofficial, but now I am officiating it. Huzzah.

How did everyone like Sunday's episode? Jaime and Brienne's scenes were fantastic, and I am loving Iwan Rheon as Ramsay more and more each week. Only three more episodes left!

If you guys have any plot suggestions, drop a review or send me a PM. Who knows? Maybe you'll see your ideas in an upcoming chapter!

Thanks for all your support! xoxo

Enjoy!

* * *

**_Jon_**

The longer he stayed at Stannis' camp, the more his suspicions gnawed away at his brain. He grew anxious to leave, to get back to Robb. He wanted to find Lady Catelyn, who was slowly making her way back to the Stark camp with Ghost and the lady knight who he had learnt was Brienne of Tarth. Robb would kill him if anything happened to his lady mother, if Jon didn't already beat himself up over it first.

Renly's bannermen fled to Stannis and joined his army. He had well over a hundred thousand men, having shed no blood except for his brother's the night before. Jon did not voice his thoughts, for he would be hanged for treason. But the shadow figure that robbed Renly of his life was the very image of Stannis. No one accused Stannis to his face, but when Jon walked through the camp, he could hear whispers of 'kinslayer' and '_maegi_'.

"She is not to be trusted," Davos always warned him, sneaking side glances at the Red Woman. He held no love for the priestess, and he had even confided in Jon that he had been there the night Melisandre birthed the shadow creature. "I thought it was spiders, at first, crawling out of her womb." His face went deathly pale whenever he spoke of what he saw, shudders running up and down his spine, his voice never louder than a whisper. "It came out in a cloud of smoke and shadow. I could have sworn it was Stannis who was in the cave that night. I will remember it until the day I die."

Davos was in Jon's tent with him that day, helping him pack up his things, along with some provisions and gifts that Stannis had supplied- it was Melisandre's idea, but the gold would surely help. He would be returning to Robb's camp that day with Stannis' negotiation terms. He couldn't wait to leave, although he would miss Ser Seaworth. He'd grown quite fond of the knight, and had even come to think of him as a father figure of sorts. He reminded himself that he would see Davos once more when Robb's army met up with that of Stannis'.

"May I offer a piece of advice, my prince?" Davos asked, closing the last chest. His shoulders hunched forward, and Jon saw how truly tired the knight was. He understood why; Davos had to help Stannis and stay by his side day and night, while keeping the rumors of the king's kinslaying at bay.

"Of course, ser." He appreciated every bit of wisdom Davos would offer him. More often than not, he was right.

"Do not mention what you saw in the tent nor what I saw in the cave to your brother. This alliance could be jeopardized if your brother suspects anything of the king." He put a hand on Jon's shoulder and gave a quick squeeze. "I'd hate to be on the other side of the battlefield of you." Davos stepped away and paced the length of the tent, shaking his head and muttering things to himself. "Treacherous, vile, untrustworthy…gods damn that woman."

"You shouldn't speak of this so close to Stannis," Jon admonished quietly, though he had the same thoughts as Davos. Still, he always felt like he was being watched. The Red Woman probably had eyes everywhere. And wherever Melisandre was, Stannis was there, and he trusted her with his life. "You can be hanged for treason." All the talk of black magic and witchcraft was unsettling to him; it made him trust Melisandre even less. He almost wished he could refuse to join Stannis' army, if it would put his heart to rest.

"I speak no ill of my king," the Onion Knight pointed out, clasping his hands behind his back. "He is the one true king, my friend, my god. It is the Red Woman I hold no love for." He looked at Jon from over his shoulder, his brow slightly quirked upward. "How could she still be in the favor of the king if she killed his brother, his _blood_?"

"What can you do about her?" Jon asked, not unkindly. "The king will take it as a personal offense if you try to…to…" He did not want to finish the sentence, lest give Davos any ideas. But the knight caught on, and the older man spluttered out a laugh.

"Try to kill her? Let me tell you a little story, Prince Jon." He sat across from Jon at the small table, resting his chin on his knuckles. His gloves were custom made, cut to fit his shortened fingers. "A few moons ago, back when we were on Dragonstone, there was a man called Maester Cressen. He wanted the Red Woman gone, and he'd finally had enough when she burnt the idols of the Seven, calling them 'false gods'.

"Cressen was a wise man. I knew him well. Very good with his healing; he was the one who saved Princess Shireen after everyone was certain she would die." Jon had heard of Shireen and her greyscale. Still, Davos spoke of her as if she was his own daughter, and Jon did not doubt her sweet nature.

"What happened to him?"

Davos sighed. "He shared a goblet of poisoned wine with Melisandre, in hopes that it would kill her. Yet…the woman drank it as if it was water while Cressen choked on his own blood." Jon jumped a little; Davos was always so blunt. "That Lord of Light…He protects her. I still do not fully understand His power, but I do not doubt it, after what I have seen."

Jon nodded his head slowly, processing all of the older man's words. His burnt hand twitched as he reflected on Davos' story. He still did not trust the flames anymore than he trusted the cold winds. Both burnt, and both killed.

"I shall not tell my brother the truth of this," he said finally. "I can only hope that Lady Catelyn has not said anything as of yet, and that she will believe me when I tell her."

"I'm sure she will, once she realizes the graveness to this." Both men stood up and Davos pulled Jon into a hug, clapping him on the back. "Safe travels, my friend. I hope to see you soon."

* * *

Jon rode as quickly as he could, wanting to beat Lady Catelyn to the camp, or at least catch up with her. He couldn't risk having her tell Robb about Stannis' kinslaying. Everything he had worked to build up would crumble and break within a matter of moments, should that be the case. But Catelyn was a smart woman, and she probably knew better than to tell.

He had wolf dreams every night he was travelling. It was easy to see where Catelyn and Brienne were heading, and he knew that he was almost upon them. The taste of blood would flood his mouth when Ghost hunted, the sound of tearing flesh and meat echoing in his ears. He would wake up with a belly that was quite filled, an aftertaste of blood on his tongue.

Robb's camp was two days away, three at the most. When he was in Ghost's body, he could catch faint whiffs of Grey Wind. It would be plenty of time to explain the situation to Catelyn.

He thought he saw something move in the near distance, and he kicked the sides of his horse to go faster. As he approached the figures, he heard low voices, and he grinned ear to ear when he saw the familiar white fur of the direwolf next to them. He swung off of his horse and took slow steps, not wanting to scare them. Still, Ghost would have warned them and pounced on him if he was an intruder, but the direwolf knew it was him.

"Lady Catelyn," Jon called, sweeping into a bow. The wolf instantly rushed to his side, his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth.

"Jon," Cat breathed, her eyes wide. She watched him in both awe and horror as if he was a ghost. "I didn't think you would find us."

"You promised we would meet again, and you were right." He gave her a tiny half-smile. "And Ghost helped."

"My prince," Brienne said, falling onto one knee. Freckles dotted her round face, which was a blank emotionless mask. Her short blond hair was dirty and matted with grease, but under the thin strands of hair, Jon was able to see the brightest blue eyes he'd ever seen. _Brienne the Beauty_, she was called mockingly. Still, there was something endearing about her. He could not bring himself to call her ugly like all the others did.

"Rise, my lady," he replied, chuckling softly. She was so loyal and dutiful, this one. And he still wasn't used to his title. He _especially _wasn't used to people falling at their feet. "Lady Brienne, correct?" He knew who she was, of course, but he did not want to frighten her by being too eager.

"Yes, my prince."

"It is an honor." He helped her to her feet. He kissed the back of her hand out of habit, and grinned when her face turned beet red. "I hope your journey has been without trouble."

"It has," Cat responded, her tone clipped. "How did the negotiations with Stannis go?"

The smile fell off of his face. "My lady, if you'd permit, I would like to speak of that when we are back in friendly territory." She nodded curtly, understanding right away. She must have been shaken up from the event with Renly as well. "I suggest we continue on our path; if we hurry, we can make good time and be back at camp within a couple of days."

Brienne began to walk with Ghost, and Lady Catelyn made a move to follow. Jon grasped her arm and held her in place, muttering an apology when she gasped and tried to wrench herself free. "My lady, I need you to listen to me. It's very important." His voice was a sharp whisper in her ear; he did not want Brienne to hear, no matter how loyal she was, nor could he risk being heard by someone who could be hiding nearby. "You have to promise me not to tell Robb about what happened to Renly. I sent a raven informing him of his death, but that is all we shall say. Telling him the truth might make our alliance with Stannis quite short lived."

Catelyn stayed quiet for several moments, her jaw clenched tightly. Jon let her go and took a step back, holding his hands up in front of him in surrender. She turned her head and met his gaze, her expression cold yet her eyes warm. "I will not say a word."


	44. Chapter Forty-Three

Look at that! I _actually_ updated on my supposed posting day! Aren't you guys proud? :')

No Thrones this week...*sigh* What did you guys think of last Sunday's episode? I thought that Peter Dinklage was fantastic in it.

Side note, but do you guys watch Doctor Who? If so, what did you think of the finale? I know I cried..."My impossible girl!"

Thanks for all the faves/subscriptions/hits aaaand reviews. You guys rock.

Enjoy! xox

* * *

**_Robb_**

He paced around the tent, his hands locked behind his back. He knew it was distressing his wife, but he ignored her protests for him to take a seat. If he stopped moving, everything would catch up with him. If he kept moving, he could run away from what he did not want to face. It was a stupid thought, he knew, but it brought him some comfort.

"Have you heard anything from Greyjoy?" he asked, shuffling around the letters on his desk. Every day, he expected a raven from Theon, but he never received anything. Surely Theon had arrived in Pyke by now? He'd been gone for almost a moon's turn… "Did the ravens already come in today? Maybe there was a letter we missed-"

"Slow down, my wolf," Elira chuckled, putting her hands on his shoulders. The tension automatically eased from them and Robb let her stroke his hair. "We haven't gotten a word from Theon. I'm sure he's fine. He probably just has a lot of catching up to do with his family, that's all." She tenderly kissed his forehead. "Should we send a raven?"

He stopped his wife's hands from taking out a sheet of parchment paper. "We don't know for sure if he's there yet. The letter could get into the wrong hands." She eyed him strangely for a moment, but eventually conceded. He reread the letters on the desk, cursing under his breath. _Gods, Greyjoy, where __**are **__you?_

Elira hovered near the desk, an anxious air about her. She was biting her nails, something Robb knew to be a habit of hers that she did only when she was nervous. She kept opening and closing her mouth, as though she wanted to say something. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but she didn't like people prying. If she had anything she needed to say, she would tell him.

"Robb?" _Right on cue_.

"Hmm?"

"Can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

"Promise you won't get mad?"

A beat. "I promise."

She tilted his chin upwards to meet her gaze. "Gisella is gone, too. Gisella Merlyn. She went after Theon, but that's all I know. I haven't spoken to her since she left."

"Lady Merlyn?" he questioned, furrowing his brow when his wife nodded. He'd heard nothing of her being here, nor did he hear of her going after Theon. "What's she doing here? House Merlyn resides in the Iron Islands." He pursed his lips and his eyes widened when realization dawned on him. "Is she the exiled daughter?" Elira nodded, sighing. There had been rumors floating around for years about a daughter of Pyke dabbling in black magic. Robb did not believe the black magic part; he'd heard about Wargs and Greenseers, and did not think of them as evil at all. _Her hair is as red as the fire in her veins_, he'd once heard, _and her blue eyes are as cold as her soul_.

"What's she doing running after Theon?" he asked after reflecting upon his queen's words.

"She said something bad would happen if she did not." She shrugged and trailed her fingertips over the polished wooden table. "I was not able to inquire further. She ran off before I could get a word in."

Robb took a few steps in the opposite direction, turning his back to her. He did not want to tell her about the strange dreams he'd been having, about being in a wolf's body. He could still taste the blood on his tongue. "We'll have to talk to her when she gets back," is all he managed to grit out.

"My king, my queen," Matthew's familiar voice drifted into the tent. His voice shook with an unmistakable excitement. "Prince Jon and Lady Catelyn have returned." Elira and Robb all but ran outside, following the crowd. "I'll go fetch Princess Arya," Matt offered as they brushed by him, a confused look on his features.

"Jon!" Robb called, grinning broadly. He enfolded his brother in a hug, happy to have him by his side once more. It felt odd not having Jon around. "Mother," he said, kissing her on the cheek. "I'm glad to see you alive and well."

"This is Lady Brienne of Tarth," Catelyn introduced the tall blonde behind her whom Robb had just taken notice of. "She is my sworn shield, as well as a friend to the Starks." Brienne dropped to her knee and laid her sword at Robb and Elira's feet. "I've never seen anyone fight like her before, Your Graces."

"She would be a great addition to your army," Jon agreed, clasping his hands behind his back. Robb knew that other kings would have laughed at the thought of a woman in battle. But he knew women were just as capable as men. He'd learnt as much by seeing the Mormont women fight.

"Rise, Brienne of Tarth," Robb commanded. "Pleased to meet you. I've heard much about you, my lady."

"And I you, Your Grace." Her shockingly blue eyes were downcast, as if she were feeling out of place.

"I welcome you to our camp." He gave her a half-smile. "I'm afraid it's not much."

Elira turned to one of the guards once she greeted Catelyn and Jon. "Find a suitable tent for Lady Brienne and make sure she has everything she needs." The guard bowed and signaled for the blonde to follow him. "I hope you will join us for supper," Elle told Brienne, her expression sincere. She had a deep respect for women who defied the gender roles laid out for them; Robb had even caught her practicing with a sword more than once.

"I would be honored, Your Grace." Brienne bowed low then walked off with the guard.

"Mother! Jon!" Arya's voice shrieked. She sprinted out of Matt's grasp, leaving him sprawled in the dirt from the momentum. She sobbed into Jon's tunic as he held her and leaned into Cat's hand as she stroked her daughter's hair. It was a touching moment, and Robb hated to be the one to break it up, but they would have plenty of time later. There were urgent matters to be discussed; the war always seemed to take priority over everything nowadays.

"I thought we could speak of the negotiations," Robb murmured, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "In private," he added, remembering the large crowd surrounding them.

"Of course," Jon responded immediately. "We'll talk later," he said quietly to Arya, ruffling his sister's hair. Cat pressed a kiss to the top of Arya's head before Matthew took the princess by the arm.

"We can go for a walk by the river, if you'd like," the squire tried, attempting to calm down her protests. Arya eventually stopped fussing and followed the young lad.

"How did you get Arya back?" Jon asked once they were back in Robb and Elira's tent.

"Lyra and Matthew found her," Elira answered, going to tend to the babes. "She was travelling with some recruits for the Night's Watch."

"They found someone else," Robb admitted. "Robert Baratheon's bastard, Gendry."

"Where's Lyra?" Jon demanded, flushing at his eagerness after the words left his mouth.

"I saw her this morning, but I haven't seen her since." Elira offered him a sympathetic look over her shoulder. Ned gurgled in her arms, tugging insistently at her hair. "I'm sure she'll come find you to welcome you back." Robb noticed Jon's sudden change in posture at Elira's subtly suggestive tone; his shoulders were thrown back, his stance almost defensive. _We all know you love her…just admit it_.

"What did Stannis have to say?" Robb asked, changing the subject. He was getting antsy just thinking about it. A Baratheon and Stark alliance could possibly end the war. Stannis' hundred-thousand men would surely be beneficial.

Catelyn took a deep breath and sat down at the table. "He has agreed to the alliance." She smiled tiredly, obviously relieved with the results of her and Jon's trip. _Except for Renly's death, of course_… "He has a couple of conditions."

The young king nodded in understanding. "Of course."

"He wishes to arrange a marriage between Rickon and Shireen when they come of age. Do you consent?"

He hesitated for a moment; he hated being in charge of so many marital unions. He wished his family was able to choose who they wanted to marry. But life was not the way Robb wanted it to be, and it was not always fair. "I consent."

"He also wishes that you bend the knee in person, and declare that he is the rightful king."

"Not a problem."

"He wants the whole spectacle," Jon interjected, crossing his arms over his chest. "Ravens sent to every corner of the kingdom, a coronation…"

Robb grimaced but nodded nonetheless. "I will have Matthew write the ravens and have them sent on the morrow." He stood behind one of the tall chairs and dug his fingers into the headboard. "What about my being King in the North? Does he want me to give up my claim?"

"He said nothing of the matter," Catelyn informed him, folding her hands in her lap.

"Mayhaps if you don't mention it, he'll forget about it," Jon snorted, rolling his eyes. Cat glared at him for the jape, but he still held his ground. "I'm sure if he has any other requests, he will tell you in person. He wishes to meet with you and join camps as soon as possible."

"Right." He dragged his teeth over his bottom lip, gripping the chair tightly. "What of Renly? Do we know what happened to him?"

Robb did not miss the look Catelyn and Jon exchanged. "We know nothing of the matter," his mother said slowly, choosing her words carefully. "All we know is that he was murdered. By who, we do not know. The likes of an assassin, probably."

"I heard something about the Faceless Men," Jon muttered, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. Robb could see Jon's discomfort as clear as day.

"Perhaps we will hear some news." He waved a dismissive hand, his shoulders hunching. "Get some rest. You two deserve it." He pulled a sheet of parchment paper and a quill and ink from the pile on the table. "I'll give the orders tonight. We'll ride to meet Stannis' camp on the morrow."


	45. Chapter Forty-Four

**_Theon_**

The boat rocked under his feet, lulling him into sweet oblivion. It was ten years since he'd stepped foot on a boat, and that was to take him away from his home. Now, he was going back. They would welcome him like a hero and throw feasts in his honour. His family would graciously accept his offer and join the Starks to kill that blonde bastard on the throne.

As excited as he was to go home, he was also anxious. What if he was merely setting himself up for disappointment? The ship was suddenly less appealing to him. His eyes shot open, and sleep did not seem like a good idea anymore. It felt strange to be on a boat as only a passenger. He should have been the captain, should have been commandeering the ship. He was a Greyjoy, after all, with salt and sea in his blood.

He swung his feet off the bed and hopped out of his bed, extremely hyper. He paced the length of the cabin, his hands clasped behind his back. His forehead broke out into a sweat, and the room felt very small; he felt claustrophobic. He could have sworn he saw water leaking in through the walls.

The captain's cabin was useless. A captain was supposed to be up on deck with his men, not cowering underneath floorboards and lounging around on decorative pillows. He longed to march up there and take charge, the wind blowing through his hair. But if he left his cabin, they would think that something was wrong. Then they would start asking questions.

He banged his fist on his door until someone finally showed up. "Get a woman for Lord Theon Greyjoy," he commanded. The lad nodded and scurried off. Theon let out a deep breath; a good fucking would surely take his mind off of things.

He poured himself a glass of strong wine, a dark red from the Arbour. He stared at the liquid for a moment too long, and soon enough, he was coughing up the wine. The dark red splattered onto the wooden floor, red like Gisella's blood on the grass. Was that why he was so shaken up all of a sudden? Was he overridden with guilt?

His lips curled into a snarl and he threw the cup across the room. The rest of the contents spilled onto the floor and the carpet, the clatter echoing in his ears. The bitch had it coming. She _deserved_ it. Who the fuck was she to take him captive and order him around like that? It was comeuppance, that's all it was.

"Lord Greyjoy," a sultry voice cooed, knocking on his door. "You sent for me?" He could already feel himself cheering up. He shouldn't worry, not when there was a hot, wet cunt waiting for him.

"Welcome, my lady," he leered, leading her towards the bed. She was petite, with curly blonde hair falling down to the small of her back. She was shorter than he was used to, but the curve of her ass made up for it.

"My lord, is everything alright?" she asked, her blue eyes focused on the spilt wine. She bent down to pick up the cup and gasped when Theon squeezed her bottom. "My lord…" He noticed the quick flash of anger in her eyes, only there for a second. "I must say, you're much more forward than other men I know."

"I want you to forget about other men," he said huskily, planting kisses to the curve of her neck. He frowned when she shied away, sitting herself on the edge of the bed. Girls were not ones to shy away from Theon Greyjoy.

"You know not even my name," she protested, but she let him lie her down on the bed, her blond curls splayed out over the pillows. She huffed when he did not ask, and rolled him onto his back, so she was on top.

"I need not ask. I feel as if we've met before," Theon said, a charming smile on his lips. "In my dreams, perhaps." He did not care to know her name, nor does he care to know the names of any other girls he fucks. It only made things more complicated; he did not want to fuck a friend or an acquaintance. It would only make him care.

Her smile was sickly sweet, a hard block of ice settling into the pit of his stomach. Her eyes twinkled with amusement and a hint of malice. He _knew_ those eyes. "You're right about that, my lord." Her grip is like iron around his throat, and a swift knee to his stomach knocked all the wind out of him.

"Don't you have anything better to do than follow me around all the time?"

"I'm saving the Realm in the process, so it's a pretty good way to bide my time."

"Nice to know that the world revolves around me," he gritted out, one of his large hands closing around both of her wrists. His other searched around the bed, finally grasping the dagger he kept under his bed. "If I kill you in this body, what happens to _you_?"

Gisella smirked. "You'd kill whatever blonde whore this body belongs to. I still have a body to warg back into." Her eyebrow quirked up, silently challenging him as he pressed the point of his blade under her breasts. She lowered her voice, her eyes reminding Theon of the blue roses that were so common in Winterfell. _A rose has thorns_. "You're going to tell the captain of this ship to turn it around, and you're going to let me take you back to King Robb." She released some of her hold on his throat and he coughed, sucking in as much air as he could with her hand still pressing hard on his collarbone. "Is that understood, Lord Greyjoy?"

* * *

**_Lyra_**

The guards let her pass without so much as a word, knowing looks on both of their faces. She knew that there had been talk going around as to why she hadn't visited Jon yet. Two days after his arrival and she'd been avoiding him at all costs. She heard some whispers that she no longer loved him, and that she'd found someone else in the capitol. She didn't think she'd ever heard anything more ridiculous. It was unfathomable, really. She had no idea as to where they got that thought. She was lucky enough that she had _one _male admirer; it was much more than she expected.

The truth was that she was scared. She was afraid of facing her feelings for Jon, and she was certain that she would end up saying the wrong thing and ruin their relationship. She wasn't even sure _what _their relationship was. She loved him more than anything, but did he think the same of her? _How can he love __**you**__? You're __**scared**__. You're not a lion; you're a tiny kitten._

"Lyra," Jon murmured when she entered, looking up from his letters. She'd never seen him look this tired before. What had been a faint tinting were now black rings under his eyes. His hair was unruly, completely tangled and dishevelled instead of his perfect ringlets. "I didn't think you'd show up." His shoulders slightly hunched even more forward.

Her fingertips traced the worn wooden tabletop. "And what makes you think so?" She tried to keep her tone light, but her smile looked more like a grimace. _Does he really think that lowly of me?_

He shrugged, setting his quill down. "After two days, I just figured it was useless waiting around." He absentmindedly played with the fur on the back of Ghost's neck. The direwolf sat silently next to his master, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. His red eyes seemed to be staring into her and she suddenly felt very uneasy.

"Come on, I can't be _that _bad." Lyra hugged herself, slinking in deeper into her cloak. "Congratulations on the successful negotiations. Your name will be the first they write in the history books." She let out a tiny laugh, though it sounded distant and hollow in her ears.

"And what about you?" he asked, pushing himself to his feet. Ghost whimpered at the loss of contact, but crawled onto the cot on the other side of the tent. "Did you find yourself a husband?" The look on his face was one of pure agony. Lyra's stomach churned and she felt her heart break.

She shook her head and she wasn't sure how she felt when Jon released a relieved sigh. "Forever a bridesmaid, I suppose." A lifetime ago, she would have been happy with that. But now, she would have to see Jon be married off to some pretty maiden and have a beautiful family. At least if she had a husband, it would be some sort of distraction. Perhaps she would even grow to love him one day.

"I'm sorry." He moved a few sheets of parchment paper around, scanning the letters.

"I've missed you," she found herself saying. "That sounded stupid. I-I only meant-"

"Don't worry about it." He offered a tiny, reassuring smile. "I've missed you, too. Gods, I can't even remember the last time just the two of us were together." Lyra did; they had fought and she swore to herself that she never wanted to see him again. Of course, she kept her mouth shut, not wanting to bring up bad memories.

"Things were easier when I was a man," she teased, sticking her tongue out. He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners in the way she thought was positively endearing. They stared at each other for silence, then pulled one another into a tight hug. His distinct scent was familiar and soothing; cloves, mint, snow. Lyra screwed her eyes shut when she felt tears pricking at the back of them.

"It's good to see you again," he murmured into her hair, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. "I can't thank you enough for bringing Arya back."

She shrugged, blushing a little; she was never good at taking compliments. "It's not a big deal, really." _What's wrong with you? Of __**course **__it's a big deal. She's the __**princess**__, and his __**sister**__, nonetheless. _She briefly wondered if any of her brothers ever thought about her. _Would they be happy if I were to return? _

"What do you think?"

His voice snapped her back to reality. "I'm sorry, what?" She hadn't even noticed him disengaging from the embrace.

"A husband for you," he explained. "What about Matthew? He seems to be quite fond of you." His cheek twitched. _Jealous, my prince? _"You'd be in good hands, at least. And you know him."

She snorted and sat on the edge of the desk. "He is an annoying little brother to me. It would be more like babysitting than anything else." She blew a strand of hair away from her face, frowning at the limp blond string.

"We'll find you a husband," he promised, sorting the letters into a neat pile on the corner of the desk.

"Don't do me any favors."

"Since when do I ever heed your advice?"

"Good point." She slid off the desk and stood in front of him, looking up to meet his gaze. "Please tell me you haven't spoken to anyone about your idea about Matthew."

He winced and clasped his hands behind his back. "He was actually the one who approached me with the offer." She gaped at him, and he cut her off before she could say anything. "Nothing is certain, of course. You won't have to marry him if you don't want to."

"I don't!"

"Just…just think about it, alright?" He plastered a smile on his face, though it was obviously strained. "It could be good. You two get along well, and you would be up north. We could see each other often, and-"

"And what? Have an _affair_?" She wanted to punch him; she would have, were he not a prince. "I don't have any intention of being known as the Wolf's _whore_, thank you very much." She scowled and stepped back from him, disgusted. "You're going to be _married_; think about how she would feel. And you're a fucking _prince_. How about you act like one?"

He turned away from her, anger and hurt written all over his face. "Can we not talk about this right now, please? Every conversation we have turns back to the subject of my marriage."

"Suggest something, then. _Enlighten _me."

He swallowed visibly. "We're riding on the morrow to meet Stannis' camp." Lyra had met him once or twice when she was a girl, when she'd been visiting King's Landing. He was a stubborn, grave and humorless man. She always found someone suspicious if they didn't smile or laugh.

"I figured we would leave soon."

"How do I put this?" Jon suddenly looked very uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "Stannis is…easily provoked. He might be…offended if there are any," he cleared his throat, "any Lannisters around."

Her heart sunk. "You're saying you…you don't want to see me for the next while."

"It's not that _I _don't want to-"

"No, no, it's fine." She shrugged, bringing her shoulders up to her ears. "I'll just stay out of sight for the next…for the rest of the war, I suppose? Anything for the _rightful _king. As you wish, my prince." She bowed low, her lips twisted into a scowl. "Goodbye, my prince. After all…you may not see me for awhile."

* * *

~cliffhanger~

Thanks for everyone's support. It means a ton.

And sorry for being a day late on my update...exams are coming up, you know what that means...*rolls eyes* School is done soon, though, which means more time for writing!

Is everyone excited for this week's episode? I am super nervous/psyched/already crying. Let's see if I can survive it.

Until next time, loves! xoxo


	46. Author's Note

Hey guys! Quick notice from yours truly.

I'm in the midst of exams, and as much as I'd love to update, I really can't. I just don't have the time right now.

However, once exams are done- in about a week and a half- I will definitely write and update as soon as I can. When summer is here, I'll try to even update twice a week.

Thanks for all your support and I'm super sorry for this hiatus.


	47. Chapter Forty-Five

I AM BACK! Thank the gods exams are over and everything is fine so far! I missed talking to you guys.

How'd everyone like the finale? I loved it. Great way to wrap up the season, but I already want season four! All in good time, I suppose...

Suggestions would be welcome! I'm sure there are a few loose ends I need to tie up, or different directions I can take this plot. I CAN assure you, though, that there will be a few twists and turns coming up. As GRRM himself said, no one is safe.

We passed two hundred reviews and two hundred followers! You guys are beyond amazing. Seriously, go treat yourself to come cookies and pat yourself on the back. I wouldn't be doing this if it weren't for you guys.

Enjoy! xox

* * *

**_Elira_**

The weather had cooled as they rode to Stannis' camp, thank the gods. She could not stand another moment of the sweltering heat, especially not when she was travelling in a densely packed caravan. The air smelled of rain and she would welcome it gladly. _Storm's End lives up to its name, at least_.

The trip was a rather short one, only a couple of days. Stannis' army and Robb's army met in the middle to settle any final details and to band together. The men were growing restless, she could tell. They were itching for a battle, longing for home and their families. This war was dragging on for far too long.

Elira had ridden beside Jon for most of the journey and she welcomed his company. She'd missed him terribly when he was negotiating with Stannis. He was more than her good-brother: he was her ally, her confidant, her friend. They understood each other, and for that, she was eternally grateful.

Lady Catelyn, Brienne of Tarth and little Arya had ridden behind them; Jon and Elira had been entertained by Arya's excited yapping. The princess had even gotten Brienne to open up some more and talk to her of her swordfighting experiences. Brienne had also told tales of the Faceless Men and Water Dancers in Braavos.

Brienne would always finish her stories with a timid, "do not listen to me, my princess. I'm sure that these are just nonsensical ramblings." But Arya was stubborn and she believed all the tales of mysterious assassins and skilled fighters. Elira couldn't see what wouldn't be true about them; she had read some similar passages in the history books. Perhaps it was just Brienne being coy.

Robb waited for her at the helm of the caravan, looking every bit as gallant as a knight in the songs. He sat tall on his horse, his chin held high. The crown rested on top of his brow, his sweaty curls peeking out from underneath. She thought of Prince Rhaegar and his sad violet eyes, just as proficient with a sword as he was with a lapharp. Robb was her true knight in shining armor, and she would take him over the Targaryen prince any day.

"Have you ever met Stannis before?" she asked, letting him take the sling with the babes from her. She giggled at how silly he looked: a king, handsome and brave in armor, with two babes cradled against his chest. He reminded her of the Mormonts' gate Dacey had told her about: a woman holding an axe in one hand, a babe to her breast with the other.

"Perhaps he came to Winterfell one time," her husband answered, "though I do not remember. I must have been very young." The image of a tiny Robb, grinning toothily, running around the courtyard made her smile fondly. She looked down at Ned; he already looked like Robb, with his shining blue eyes and his auburn hair fair in the sunlight.

"How are you feeling about…this?" Elle gestured to the camp in front of them. She was a bit uneasy at the prospect; what if something went wrong? Everything seemed to be fine so far, but all good things come to an end. None of them knew Stannis and his men very well. For all she knew, the Northerners could be going up a blind alley.

"My mother has known Stannis for a long time. She is from the South, besides- she knows more about how they work than we do." He shrugged, slowing his horse as they approached the camp. "If Jon was successful in gathering Stannis' army here in the first place, I'm sure everything will work out fine. All we can do now is wait."

"What about Renly?" she questioned, lowering her voice to a whisper. The mystery of the youngest Baratheon brother had been gnawing at the back of her mind ever since Jon had sent the raven with word of his death. "Don't you think that Stannis can do the same thing to you?"

"We don't know if it was Stannis who killed him," he replied, sounding a bit annoyed. "You shouldn't bring it up while we're here."

"I know, I shouldn't. I just…" She chewed on her lip, a curtain of hair falling in front of her face. "I worry about you. If you'll come back from a battle, if you'll see your children grow up…"

"Everything will be fine," he promised, his voice softening. He swung down from his horse then helped Elira down from hers. "Don't worry about me," he murmured in her ear. "I won't let anything happen to you, or the children, or any of us." He pressed a kiss to her temple and took her hand. "Come along, Your Grace. Stannis is waiting." He put the sling back around Elira's shoulders and the babes inside cooed, tugging at her hair.

Robb's army began to set up their tents and tied their horses to nearby tents. Lady Brienne stayed glued to Arya's side, not wanting her to run off again. Robb, Elira, Jon and Catelyn made their way to the core of the camp, searching for Stannis. Grey Wind and Ghost loped behind them, sticking close to one another.

"Your Graces," a gruff voice called out. Jon instantly enveloped the man in a hug, a wide grin on his face. "I am Ser Davos Seaworth. King Stannis sent me to retrieve you. If you'll follow me…" He gestured to the right, his hand short at the knuckles. Elira had heard how Stannis cut off Davos' fingers for being a smuggler during Robert's Rebellion. She always wanted to meet the Onion Knight.

"It's an honor to meet you, Ser Davos," Elira said instead, keeping her composure in check. She did not want to seem like a giddy little girl. She was not a blushing maiden meeting her first knight.

He gave her a small bow. "Likewise, Your Grace."

The group walked to Stannis' tent, which was quite close by. They entered just in time, for it began to pour. _We arrive in safety, and then the gods attempt to drown us. What luck. _She heard thunder crashing, and through the material of the tent, she could see lightning. She hoped that Robb's army had gotten settled in alright, in time.

"Your Grace," Robb greeted Stannis, sweeping into a low bow. The others followed suit, saying their courtesies. Elira saw a woman dressed in all red next to Stannis, the ruby around her throat glittering in the dim candlelight. A shiver ran down the young queen's spine when she met the woman's eyes, red just like the rest of her.

Stannis turned to Jon, his blue eyes icy. "You gave your brother my terms?" Jon nodded sharply, his burnt hand clenching. "Are they alright with you, King Robb?" Robb's title was uttered with almost a _sneer_, though no one commented on it. _If Stannis is to be petty about things, so be it. _They needed his army, and they could not back out simply because of the tone he used.

"The terms are fair," Robb conceded.

"Very well." Stannis removed the cover from the tabletop, revealing a detailed map underneath. Wooden pieces with sigils of noble houses were placed carefully on top of the painted parchment. "We must attack on King's Landing, and soon. Tywin Lannister is out of reach of the capitol, leaving their defences are weak while leaded under the Imp. It is the perfect time."

"I have seen a great victory in the flames," the Red Woman declared, lingering by the pit of fire on the far side of the tent. "R'hllor is on our side, Your Graces." Elira did not miss the suspicious stares Davos and Lady Catelyn gave her. Elle had heard of R'hllor and the Red God, though not very much about Him. All she knew was that they burnt their enemies to sacrifice them.

"Is this the wisest approach?" Catelyn inquired, stepping towards the table to get a closer look at the map. "Pardons, Your Grace, but it seems a bit…sudden, doesn't it?" Her brow was creased with worry.

"A surprise attack is precisely the point, my lady," Stannis told her. "We should go as soon as we can, lest we give them time to regroup. A battle against the Gold Cloaks will be easy, but against the Gold Cloaks _and _the Lannisters?"

"It will be difficult," Jon admitted. It would be about even by then, but who knows what could happen? They should not take chances when so many lives are at stake.

"What about Casterly Rock?" Catelyn pressed. "We cannot leave that untouched."

Robb shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "If Tywin Lannister is to bend the knee, perhaps an attack will not be necessary…" He shrunk a bit under Stannis' heated glare. "We have his son, Jaime. If we march on King's Landing and take his other children, an agreement can be made."

Stannis shook his head, grinding his teeth. "The Lannisters die. All of them."

"Keeping them alive could prove to be dangerous," Elira hesitantly agreed. Extinguishing House Lannister would be the safest way to go. There would be no threat of rebellion or an uprising later on.

Baratheon's anger dissipated and he nodded gratefully to Elle. He pointed to Casterly Rock on the other side of the map, turning back to Catelyn. "We will march on Casterly Rock after we take King's Landing. We will rally up all the men we are left with, while leaving some to guard the city, of course."

Ser Seaworth pulled out a map of King's Landing and spread it out on the table. "River Gate- or, Mud Gate- is on the water," Davos explained, for he knew that they were unfamiliar with the city. "Half of the army will come in by boat and breach through there. The other half will enter from the King's Gate, down here."

"We have enough ships?" Robb quirked an eyebrow up.

"Yes, Your Grace. My friend, Salladhor Saan, has an entire fleet." Elira thought back to Theon Greyjoy, whom they had heard nothing from. He had been gone for a turn of a moon, and not a word had come from the Iron Islands. They did not know if he had arrived, if he was dead, if he had been captured, or worse.

Robb still looked uncertain. "I…I suppose if we must march, then we will march."

Stannis looked at Elira and Catelyn. "Take one of the boats to Dragonstone tomorrow. You two, Melisandre, Princess Arya, Jaime Lannister and any other women and children will be safe there."

Jon stepped forward, biting his lip nervously. "Your Grace, Lady Melisandre is not to come with you?"

Stannis scrutinized him. "Ser Davos convinced me to leave her behind."

"Why are you worried about me, Prince Jon?" Melisandre's smooth voice was laced with amusement.

Jon hesitated for a moment, clearing his throat. "I have seen what your magic can do. We need you in the battle, if something goes wrong." He shot Davos an apologetic look, his eyes full of remorse.

Stannis thought about it for a moment, staring into the fire pit. The light danced off of his skin, making him look even older than he was. He had been affected by this war, too, Elira knew. He had lost two brothers; his expression was hard, but his eyes were…sad, almost. "Very well. I apologize, Ser Davos."

Davos' mouth was a thin, grim line. "I understand, Your Grace."

"Everything is settled, then." Stannis nodded to Robb. "We shall speak more on the morrow." The four bowed and dashed back to their tents, not wanting to get caught in the rain. _Quite a welcome, alright…_

"I don't want to leave you," Elira snapped once she was alone in her tent with Robb. She placed Ned and Lyanna into their crib, kissing the top of each of their heads. "It's too soon. I've never been to Dragonstone, never been on a godsdamn _boat_ before."

"Love, please," Robb murmured, putting his hands on her shoulders. "I'll see you soon, I promise." He kissed her forehead and she missed the touch instantly after he pulled away. "Stannis is right; Dragonstone will be safe for you."

"And I'm just supposed to sit there and wait while you march on the capitol?" She buried her face in his neck, her fingers fisted in his leather doublet. She breathed in the familiar scent of him- mint, pine needles, cloves…she was already missing him. "I'm scared, Robb. I don't want you to die."

"I won't," he said firmly. "I have Jon and Grey Wind…and more than a hundred thousand soldiers behind me." He kissed her knuckles, his eyes boring into hers. "When I said that I was yours now and always, I meant it."

She sniffled and wiped a tear away. _Don't cry, stupid girl_. "Now and always," she echoed quietly." She kissed him deeply, trying to memorize his taste and the feel of his lips on hers. "I love you, Robb Stark."

"And I, you, Elira Manston."


	48. Chapter Forty-Six

Hi guys! Sorry about the wait. I started work and blah. I hate my job, BUT I will not complain about it here. I'm sure you guys just want to get straight to the chapter.

This one was really hard for me to write for some reason. I kept changing the POVs and wondering what exactly I should do in this chapter. I finally went in the ~romantic~ direction. But have no fear: there will be action in the next chapter.

Thanks for all your support! You guys are absolutely fantastic.

Enjoy! xox

-Cas

* * *

**_Gisella_**

She knocked on Theon's door, the letter heavy in her palm. "It's open," he said gruffly, his voice muffled by the door. She pushed it open and strode inside, closing it behind her. "Oh, it's you," he muttered, flicking his eyes up from the sheet of parchment paper in front of him. "What do you want?"

She tossed the letter onto his desk. "News from Storm's End." The wax Stark stamp was broken, proof that she had read it. "Don't get mad that I read it. You'll be happy that I did, once you see the contents. I could have given it to your father or your sister." She had been camping out in the rookery for the past few days, only leaving to have a meal or go sleep in her guest chambers.

Theon had introduced her as one of Robb's envoys, Lady Gwyneth of Lys. She kept her hood on at all times to hide her greyscale, and covered it as best as she could with makeup. Her hair was pulled back into a tight braid and dyed black, reminiscent of Theon's locks. Balon had never seen her before, and she had been exiled a few years ago. She'd had time to grow into a young woman, barely recognizable to the child she'd been when she was sent away.

"Robb is foolish for sending this," he growled, scanning the letter. "It could have gotten into the wrong hands. Who mails battle plans to someone?"

"He likely thinks you're dead," the redhead explained with a roll of her eyes. "You haven't sent any word to him. Nice job on that." She tried to snatch the letter away from him, but he jerked away in time. "And for your information, that is the beauty of having a Warg on your side."

He stared at her incredulously, his jaw slack. "Y-you warged into the raven?" he spluttered out. Gisella almost laughed at him, but bit her lip to hold it in. "How did you know it was so important?"

"I also warged into Robb's horse," she admitted, smirking. Theon would never fully understand the extent of her powers. Magic was thought to be long since dead in the Realm. "You hear a lot of things. Did you know that a squire is trying to win the hand of Lyra Lannister? Matthew, one of the Ryswell soldiers."

He snorted. "I wonder what Jon thinks about that." He reread the letter, pursing his lips. His brow creased in what she recognized as his concentrating face. "How did you warg into Robb's horse when he is so far away?"

"I lied about that. You should trust less people." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I _was _telling the truth about the raven. Every raven headed to Pyke within the past week, actually. Why do you think you've been getting so many letters? You're not _that _popular." A smirk tugged at the corners of her lips.

He was not in the mood for japes today, a rare sight. "If Robb has Stannis' fleet, then he does not need that of my father's." _Not that Balon would have given it to him anyway_. He had given Theon an ultimatum: return to the Starks without his fleet and not be acknowledged by Balon as his son, or attack the North. Gisella begged him to go back to the Starks, but he decided to take a couple of days to think about it. She knew it was a hard choice for him.

"Your father's fleet would never make it in time for the attack on King's Landing." Knowing Theon, he did not want to miss out on the chance of glory and victory at what promised to be a great battle.

"It looks like we do not have time on our side," he agreed grimly. He stood up and pushed his chair into our desk. "Prepare our things and get a servant to saddle our horses. I'll tell my father we are leaving at once."

She grabbed his arm before he could leave the room. "What about your inheritance? You know what your father said, and he does not make empty threats." He had been so hopeful to see the Iron Islands once more, to see the place he would one day rule. She could not bear to see him throw it all out the window.

He took in a deep breath through his nose, his eyes boring into hers. "Everything will work out the way it is meant to." He did not jerk away from her grip, but instead relaxed in it. "Do not worry about me." She opened her mouth to protest, but he pressed his lips to hers before she could respond. The kiss was soft and gentle, nothing she would associate with Theon Greyjoy. The only other time they had kissed was when they were eight, and that had been more of an accident than anything else; the two had vowed to never speak of it again.

"What was that for?" she asked breathlessly when he pulled away.

He shrugged. "I wanted to do that." He smiled shyly- _Theon Greyjoy? __**Shy**__?_- and pecked her on the mouth once more. "Everything will be fine. I promise."

* * *

**_Lyra_**

The smoke wafted in the air, her eyes watering as she watched the ring. The pipe was given to her by one of the Lyseni pirates: blown glass, stained with an array of vibrant colors. She was never fond of smoking, but she did not want to waste such a lovely gift. She did not have anything better to do, anyway. She cowered deeper underneath the tarp she'd thrown over a tree branch to shield herself from the rain. _Storm's End…now when will this storm fucking __**end**__?_

They were a few days ride from King's Landing, and a few days from the battle. If she closed her eyes, she could already imagine it in the history books. Tales of the Starks' and Baratheons' great success would be told across the nation- across the _world_. Bards would write songs and sing them at the celebration feasts and would be sung for generations.

Sometimes, though, when she would close her eyes, she came across other passages. The Baratheons' defeat, the Starks' extinction…each excerpt more terrible than the last. She shuddered and took another drag of the pipe, in hopes to distract herself. No matter how many times she convinced herself that the Starks and Baratheons would triumph, there was still a tiny part of her that screamed otherwise.

Perhaps she still had some lion's blood in her, yet.

Lyra hugged her knees to her chest and tried to fight the tremors wracking her body. The rain was _cold_, each drop pelting her body like tiny beads of ice. The closest fire was a couple of tents away, but she did not know any of the men here. She was stuck near the back of the caravan with the squires and commoners, away from Stannis and his prying eyes. She wasn't sure if Stannis knew of her presence, but if he didn't, she did not want to make herself known.

Lyra was utterly alone. Catelyn, Elira, Arwyn and Arya had taken a boat to Dragonstone yesterday. Gendry, too, for if something happened to Stannis, he was the next heir apparent. Jaime was held at Dragonstone, as well, not that she really had any interest in conversing with her cousin, of course. Lady Brienne did not talk to her- too crude for her likings, probably. And a Lannister, besides. Theon was gods knew where, had been for the past moon. Ryker was with Robb and Stannis and all the others, discussing battle plans. And Jon…she did not even want to think about Jon.

Her stomach was already grumbling quietly and she willed it to stop. She had eaten a mere few hours past, but she'd taken a meager serving. She was too embarrassed to stay with the others, too unsure of herself. Some of the men still doubted her, and whispers of _the White Wolf's whore _and _Lionspawn _had traveled across camp. There was no sense in denying them: that would only rouse more suspicion.

She heard steps approaching, the boots getting sucked into the mud. She didn't look up, her shaking hands tightly gripping the pipe held between her lips. The smell was beginning to give her a headache and she knew she should stop soon. But it provided _some _form of warmth, as minimal as it was.

"May I join you?" She almost scowled at the familiar voice, but moved over to give him room anyway. He sat next to her and she instantly felt warmer.

"Shouldn't you be at the front of the van?" She tapped her fingers on her pipe, some tune she had heard the men drumming at supper. "I have a bad reputation, you know." She saw his smile out of the corner of her eye, but she found she could not return it.

"Bad reputations usually make for good company." Jon crossed his ankles and rested his hands on his knees. "This rain is getting the best of us. We should do something about it."

"We are not gods," she countered, putting her extinguished pipe back into her bag. Her throat was itching from the smoke, her tongue thick in her mouth. "We will have to suffer it like everyone else. That is why they are gods."

"I didn't think you were one of the religious types," he teased. She did not laugh at his jape, was not able to laugh for the longest time. Something was not right between them, and every time their relationship seemed to be mended, they would get into a fight. _Perhaps it would have been better if I had stayed at the Wall_. No, that would not have been any better. She would have constantly thought of Jon and missed him, which would only be painful. _You should have married like a good daughter would have_.

"Unfortunately, I'm not. I'm just a pessimist." If she held onto the silly faith of the gods, would she be as bitter?

He sighed and ran his fingers through his curls. "I'm sorry about what happened last time. I wasn't implying having an affair. I just…I want you to be safe, that's all." He toed the mud with his boot. "I couldn't imagine never seeing you again." Her heart broke all over again, and she tried not to show it.

"I'm touched," she gritted out. "Look, you shouldn't be here. It's getting late." The storm made it almost impossible to see more than two feet in front of you. A sudden burst of thunder clapped loudly, making Lyra jump.

"Come on," Jon said, ignoring her. He grabbed her hand and lifted her to her feet. "It's not raining so bad a little ways away from here. It's a short ride." She wanted to protest, should have been defiant. But she found herself following him, her fingers still laced with his.

She rode in front of him on his horse, her back molding perfectly into his chest. His arms encircled her, his smell around her, familiar and comforting. With the sound of the rain hitting the ground and the rhythmic bouncing on the saddle, she could have easily fallen asleep. She was about to close her eyes when they reached a small clearing by the riverside.

"How'd you find this place?" she asked, stifling a yawn as he helped her down from the horse. The rain barely touched this area and the air was warmer than it was at the camp. She kicked off her boots and dipped her feet into the river, the water lazily lapping at her toes.

He shrugged and sat next to her. "I was bored: I was sick of this rain and I wanted to ride. I thought you might want to see it." Lannister smiled at him, a tiny, shy quirk of her lips. "Do you want to go swimming?" He was already shedding his clothes and she forced herself to look away, a blush on her cheeks. She heard a _splash_, some drops of water hitting her.

"I've never been a good swimmer," she admitted.

The prince grinned. "I'll teach you."

She slipped out of her clothes and set them into a neat pile on the side. Jon wrapped his arms around her and helped her wade around. The last time she'd been in the water was back at home- _if I can even call it that_-, and that was only because her brothers had thrown her into the sea. She always thought that the water was a place for a kraken or a trout, not a lion.

"You're doing it!" Jon said gleefully, letting her go. She paddled around, a wide grin on her face. He followed her, though he was much faster and quickly caught up with her. "Got you," he murmured, resting his chin on her shoulder.

She was suddenly very aware of her nakedness and blushed fiercely, glad that he could not see her. "We should head back. It's getting late." She did not want to leave his embrace, but it was for the best.

"I suppose we should." He did not make an effort to move away from her. "I do not want to marry the Frey girl," he whispered, his lips brushing her neck with every word. He laced his hands over her belly, his fingers rough and calloused from years of swordplay and archery.

She squeezed her eye shut and tried to calm her racing heart. Tears pricked at the back of her eyelids, but she _would not cry_. Not in front of Jon. _I don't want you to marry the Frey girl. We should have stayed at the Wall where everything was simpler._

"You cannot always get what you want, sadly," she said instead, her voice foreign in her ears. Still, she turned her head and pressed her lips to his, savouring the taste of him. "If I die on the battlefield-"

"Don't talk that way."

"If I die, just know that…" She kissed him again, feeling overly emotional. She hated herself in that moment. "Just know that I love you, Jon Stark." He opened his mouth to respond, but she put a finger over his lips before he could. "And if you love me too- whether I die or not-, then you will marry the Frey girl. Do not throw all of this away for me. Please."

He nodded slowly, pain evident in his eyes. "We should go." They slowly dressed and rode back to the camp in silence.


End file.
